Warriors of Light and Darkness
by Nightstalker1
Summary: Post RotK. After recieving prophetic dreams about a growing darkness, Aragorn and Faramir soon discover that a friend from the past has become their worst enemy. Chapter 7: Reunion in Ithilien
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything that is LotR.  The only things that I own are the books and my Legolas in Rohan Armor action figure which, I should add, I had to pay a decent amount of money for.   **

**A/N: This is a definite change for me.  Almost everything I've ever written has been a comedy in some way, shape, or form.  But I have decided to give myself a challenge by way of an action/adventure story. MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ROTK!!!!!  Reviews are greatly appreciated, but flames will be used to burn my Organic Chemistry notes.  **

**Prologue**

Darkness

It was all that he saw, all that he felt, all that he knew.  He was floating in an endless abyss of darkness.  Shadows pulled at him from every direction, wrenching his limbs painfully.  Darkness and pain were all that his mind focused on.  There was no warmth, only bitter cold.  There was no sound, only deafening silence.  He tried to cry out for help, but the shadows plunged down his throat, choking him.  Shadows poured into every opening of his body, filling him with darkness until he was sure he would burst.  He longed for escape, but found only pain.  He wanted to simply give in and let the black void end his life, if only to end the excruciating pain.

And then he felt the darkness lessen, as if something was driving it away from his body.  He felt arms encircle him, sending arrows of blessed warmth shooting throughout him.  He could feel the void release him to the pleasant heat.  With renewed energy, he raised his head to see what had delivered him from the darkness.  

He found himself floating in an endless sea that was not black, but white.  This new place seemed to be the exact opposite where he had been.  Instead of cold and pain, he felt warmth and tranquility.  He was not being pulled in every direction, but left to float contentedly and move about at his own will.  Despite the pleasant feel of this place, he felt that he did not belong here.  It seemed to him that he was only being admitted here for a short time.  That suited him just fine.  As much as he enjoyed this place, he knew that he would have to return home eventually.  

And then he saw it.

At first, it appeared as a small ball of light floating toward him on some unfelt breeze.  As it grew closer, it began to grow until it was slightly larger than him.  And then the ball of light began to change shape, its sides pulling in to become an oval.  Its smooth contour was marred as the oval pulled in at different points.  He stared in fascination at the changing shape as it pulled in to form the distinct silhouette of a Man.  And then the silhouette began to fill with colors.  They swirled together inside their silhouette prison, choosing a place to settle.  Light shadows were added, accentuating curves of the silhouette and making it three dimensional.  When all colors and shadows finally settled, he gasped in shock at what they had formed.  In a shaking voice he spoke, unsure if what he was seeing was real or simply an illusion.

"Brother?"

The Man stared straight into his eyes, smiling, and nodded.  The auburn, shoulder length hair, the face covered in rough stubble, those unmistakable blue-grey eyes; it was him!  After all this time, he was finally reunited with his brother in this mysterious place.  He could feel tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes as he embraced his brother for the first time in many years.

"It is you.  We are finally reunited after such a long time, my brother."

"Yes," His brother held him tightly, his words sending the last remnants of shadow away. "But we will not be together much longer."

"What do you mean?" He gasped and pulled back to stare at his brother in confusion.

"Brother, my time here is short.  Even now he is searching for me."

"Who?  Who is searching for you?"

"A shadow of the past…"

At that moment, the world of white that surrounded them dissolved back into black.  The intense cold returned with a vengeance, causing him clutch his brother closer.  He found no warmth, though, as his arms passed directly through his brother, sending knives of ice into his veins.  He watched in horror as his beloved brother began to fade, until his body became translucent.

"No!" His brother cursed. "I did not think he would find me so quickly!  Brother, you must listen well.  I have come to warn you.  An army of darkness is growing from the blood of darkness passed.  Souls that were once light have been turned to darkness and only exist for destruction.  Even now they walk among the living."

He shuddered.  His brother's words which brought warmth and comfort to him only moments earlier were now freezing the very blood in his body into ice.  What was happening?

His brother began to fade more. "Forgive me, my brother, but I must go.  My soul is in grave danger and will be even more so if I stay any longer.  I…"

Whatever his brother was about to say was cut off as ghostly grey chains shot out from the darkness.  They wrapped around his brother, pinning his arms to his chest, and began to pull him backwards into deeper darkness.

"You will not have me!" His brother shouted as he began to struggle wildly. "I will not let you defeat me!  Brother, listen to me!  They must not find what was left behind!  No!  Let me go!"

And then his brother was gone.

He stared into the endless darkness with horror written across his face. "No!  Come back, Brother!  Come back!  BOROMIR!"   


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sorry to keep everyone waiting.  This would have been up sooner, but my beta Avalon was very busy with her classes.  I guess I can forgive her.  The action doesn't start yet, but there's plenty of angst, mystery, and a little romance to go around.**

**Chapter 1**

"Boromir!"

Faramir was jolted awake by the sound of his own voice.  His breath came out in fast, uneven gasps and his entire body was shaking from the tension in every muscle.  He sat straight up in bed and placed his head in his hands.  His body felt frozen from the inside, yet he felt the sweat from his brow trickle between his fingers.  The prince of Ithilien could feel the bed shift as Eowyn awoke beside him.  The former shield maiden of Rohan was shocked to see her husband's face had turned white, even in the dark room, and his eyes were clouded.

"My love?" She whispered, taking a cold, clammy hand between her own. "Are you well?  Should I send for a healer?"

"No!" Faramir answered a little too quickly.  He took a deep breath and began again, slower this time. "No, my lady.  I shall be all right shortly.  It was only a nightmare."

"It must have been quite the nightmare then," Eowyn replied as she reached for a glass and the basin of water by their bedside.

Faramir managed a weak smile as he gratefully took the offered glass of water from his wife with trembling hands.  For several minutes he said nothing, concentrating solely on taking small sips of the water and recomposing himself.  Eowyn rubbed his back lightly, reassuringly, and allowed her husband the time he needed to regain his composure.  When the glass was finally empty, Faramir turned back to Eowyn and gave her a warm smile.

"My thanks, Eowyn," He murmured as he softly kissed her lips.

Eowyn smiled. "Are you ready to speak now, or would you prefer to keep this to yourself?"

Despite the exhaustion that encompassed his body, Faramir managed a rueful grin. "Somehow, I get the feeling that if I did not talk, you would find a way to force me to."

Eowyn laughed lightly, but made no move to defend herself.  Why would she?  It was the truth after all.  She gave her husband a brief kiss on the cheek and sat back with her eyes locked on his.

"Now talk."

The smile faded from Faramir's face as the memories of the nightmare returned.  He turned his face away from his wife's and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"I saw my brother," He replied solemnly, only half noticing the sympathetic look that Eowyn was giving him. "Or rather, I saw his ghost."

Eowyn gathered one of his hands in both of hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Did he do anything or did you simply see him?"

"He spoke to me," Faramir shuddered, remembering how Boromir's words had turned his blood to ice. "He warned me about an army of darkness rising from the blood of darkness passed.  He also said that the souls of light have been turned to darkness and now walk among us.  Alas, for I have no idea what he means."

"Did he say anything else?" Eowyn prompted, for she could tell that her husband was holding something extremely painful within his memories.

Faramir remained silent, and for many minutes it looked as though he would keep his silence.  Long moments passed until the Prince of Ithilien let out a sigh of defeat.  The memory was too painful to keep inside.

"Yes," He whispered softly. "Yes, he said more.  He said that his soul was in danger, though he did not specifically say why.  It was something about being hunted by a shadow of the past.  He said that they must not get what was left behind."

"Your brother spoke in riddles," Eowyn frowned.

Faramir grimaced. "Yes, something that he never did when he lived.  Boromir was always straight forward and blunt when he spoke.  That he would start speaking in riddles confuses me to no end."

"Did he say anything more?"

"No," Faramir shuddered. "He said 'They must not get what was left behind.' and then he was pulled away from me by force.  As soon as he was gone, I awoke.  I do not understand what he wants me to do."

"How do you know that you are supposed to do anything?" Eowyn gave her husband a hard stare. "For all that you know this may have simply been a bad dream and nothing more."

"This was no dream, my love," Faramir replied gently. "I sense that there was truth in what I saw.  The last time I felt such a thing was four years ago when I dreamt of my brother's fall.  Eowyn, this was no mere dream, but a vision.  Boromir's spirit wants me to do something about this growing darkness."

"How do you even know it was Boromir who spoke to you?" Eowyn interjected. "You said yourself that he spoke plainly while he lived, not in riddles.  How do you know it was not another trying to lure you into doing something foolish?"

"It was Boromir," Faramir sharply interrupted her. "Until that day four years ago, my brother has been in my life since the moment I was born.  When our mother died, he was the one who took care of me.  I have always been able to feel his presence, even if we were on opposite ends of Minas Tirith.  I could sense wisps of what he was doing or feeling.  I can not fully understand it, let alone explain it, but I know it was him.  I could feel in every corner of my being that it was Boromir.  You must believe me, my love."

The Lady of Ithilien sighed and sat back. "I will not pretend to understand these senses you have, but I believe you."

Smiling, Faramir pulled his wife into an embrace and kissed her full on the lips. "That is all I could ever ask for, my love.  Now if only I could figure out what Boromir was trying to say.  I can not make any sense out of it."

"Perhaps sleep will clear your mind."

"No," There was no mirth in his weak chuckle. "After that vision, I do not believe that I will be able to voluntarily sleep again for a long time.  Besides, my mind is too full of unanswered questions now."

"Is there anyone you can talk to who might understand the meaning of your vision?"

Faramir sighed and ran a hand through his tangled hair.  "The only ones who I have ever felt comfortable discussing my visions with were Boromir and my father.  A lot of good that does me now."

Eowyn's face brightened with a sudden idea and then fell again.  This did not go unnoticed by Faramir's eyes.

"You have thought of someone, my love?"

"I have," Eowyn hesitated. "And yet I am reluctant to say it."

"Who?"

Eowyn looked away as she spoke. "I thought of King Elessar."

Faramir was positively beaming. "Of course!  Why did I not think of the king before?  He was raised among elves, so he may be used to hearing about prophetic dreams.  He also has great insight on the workings of a Man's mind.  What is more, he was there when Boromir took his last breath.  Perhaps my brother's last moments may hold some key to unraveling this mystery.  Eowyn, you are a genius!  And yet you did not wish to tell me.  Why?"

Eowyn could feel the moisture sting her eyes as she spoke. "Because knowing that King Elessar might help you would mean that you would have to leave."

"I see," Faramir's face fell.  With the utmost care, he pulled his wife into his arms and stroked her hair. "You are right.  I must go to Minas Tirith to find my answers, though I do not wish to part from either of you."

He placed a kiss on the top of his wife's head as he reached down to lovingly stroke the growing bulge beneath her nightgown.  Within her, their first child had reached the sixth month of its development.  Even now, Faramir was still shocked by the fact that he would become a father within the year.  Every day he would shower his wife with affection and spend all of his free hours sitting with her, his hands upon the warm mound.  He had made sure that his duties as Prince of Ithilien did not take him away from his wife for more than a few days and so he was loathe leaving her side for any long period of time.  A trip to Minas Tirith would definitely count as a long period of time away from Eowyn.       

"So you are going?" Eowyn sighed as she placed her hand over his atop her belly.

"You know that I must.  Elessar may be the only one who can help.  I will leave in the morning to find my answers as soon as possible and will not be gone for more than a week."

"It will be a week too long," Eowyn sighed. "But I can not stop you.  I would join you in a heartbeat, but I do not wish to harm our child by riding."

"Eowyn," Faramir chuckled. "I am sure that riding would not injure our child this far along in its development.  If it would make you feel any better, I will seek out some mothers while in Minas Tirith and ask them if riding is safe during the late months of pregnancy.  I do not wish your passion of riding to diminish because of our child.  I shudder every time I think of you sitting home when your heart desires to be racing through Ithilien on horseback."

"Thank you, my love," Eowyn sighed contentedly and leaned her head back on Faramir's shoulder, falling asleep instantly.

Faramir sighed as he watched his wife sleeping peacefully and wished that he could join her.  But his meeting with Boromir's ghost had shaken him to the core.  Shifting Eowyn and himself into a more comfortable position, the Prince of Ithilien sat back and let his mind begin to sort itself out.

*          *          *  

_Where am I?_

That single question ran over and over in Aragorn's mind as he walked.  He was in some sort of cave, judging from the stone tunnels that surrounded him.  The trickling of water droplets falling against the stone floor echoed all around him, indicating that it was a very large and deep cave.  But where this cave was located and how far underground remained a mystery.

And so he randomly picked a direction and began to walk.  He had no idea if it was the way out, but Aragorn trusted his ranger instincts.  Little did Aragorn know that he was actually going deeper into the caverns.  It was not until he was surrounded in complete darkness that the former ranger decided that perhaps the other way would have been the better choice.  He was about to double back when a low, faint whisper blew past his ear.

"Aragorn."

He spun around, eyes searching for the whisper's source, but only saw darkness.  Though his senses were far more acute than a normal Man, he could pick up no trace of another living being in the dark; or for that matter, the walls of the cave.  He groped about in the darkness for some trace of the rough stone walls to make his way out, but his hands only met with empty air.  Aragorn forced a growing sense of panic back into a remote corner of his mind.  The first rule of a ranger was not to panic. Panic led to mistakes and mistakes led to death.

A sudden chill passed over Aragorn, as if he had suddenly been plunged into icy water.  He could see his breath form a thin vaporous cloud as he exhaled and could feel his teeth begin to chatter.  

And then he heard breathing that was not his own.

Aragorn spun around wildly, but still saw nothing else within the black void.  Again, he pushed away the desire to panic.  Someone or something was here with him and panicking would not help him figure out its identity.

"Aragorn."

He heard the whisper again, this time from a little ways in front of him.  A sudden urge to walk forward came over him.  Aragorn tried to resist, but found his legs moving on their own accord.  He heard his name whispered again on his left and his feet automatically changed direction to follow it.  His whispered name repeated over and over, leading his body to some unknown destination.

As he walked, Aragorn could feel the chill around his body increase.  He was surprised to discover that he could move his hands to rub heat into his frozen arms.  Apparently, only his legs were not under his control.  As the cold grew stronger, Aragorn could see that the path he walked was beginning to get lighter.  Ahead in the distance, he could make out a faint blue and white glow.  As the light grew closer, Aragorn finally realized what was happening.  The voice was leading him out of the cave.

_It would be just my luck if this cave leads me directly to the very __peak__ of __Caradhras__.  Aragorn silently grimaced as he breathed on his fingers to warm them from the biting cold._

He walked on.  The light grew and the cold became worse until finally he was standing in the mouth of the cave.  But what he saw did not make any sense.  Judging from the cold, Aragorn had assumed he was somewhere on a mountain top.  Instead, he found himself at the bottom of a deep ravine in the middle of the night.  Sheer rock faces dotted with caverns surrounded him on every side.  All along the base of each wall, Aragorn could see pairs of rusting manacles.  Tentatively, he reached out to touch one.

An invisible force suddenly pulled him back sharply with a harsh whisper of "No!" 

Aragorn fell back and closed his eyes as he hit the ground.  When he opened his eyes again, he was met with a horrific sight.  The ravine, once bathed in gentle moonlight, was now wreathed in flames.  Dark fire poured through every crack and crevice, yet Aragorn felt no heat.  Rather, it felt like he was being frozen from the inside out.  Screams and moans of agony and despair drowned out the roar of the fires surrounding him.  Aragorn soon understood why.

The rusted old manacles that lined the cavernous walls were no longer empty.

Instead, each and every pair held the arms of tortured Men.  Their feeble garments had been torn and soiled until they did nothing but cover the bare essentials of each.  Blood flowed freely from their gaping wounds.  Aragorn had to force himself not to retch at the site.  He desperately looked around for something to focus on that was not a tortured prisoner, but he soon discovered there was no escaping it.  All around him, as far as the eye could see, were broken and screaming Men.  Aragorn's eyes came to rest on the nearest prisoner who had blood running rivers down his bent back.  He reached out his hand, as if such an offer would heal the hideous wounds.  But he recoiled in shock when the prisoner suddenly looked up at him.  

_No!  This can not be!  It is not possible!_

It was Hama, a Rohirrim guard slain at the Battle of Helm's deep, who Aragorn had met when he, Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli had first come to Edoras.  But it could not have been him.  Hama had died four years ago.  Aragorn had been there when his body was laid to rest outside Helm's Deep.  That the young soldier could be a prisoner, or even alive for that matter, was completely impossible.

Aragorn turned his face from the site of the dead Rohirrim, only to meet the eyes of another prisoner; King Theoden of Rohan.  Aragorn backed away in horror from the dead King's hollow eyes.  He turned again and found himself surrounded by soldiers of Gondor that lost their lives while fighting beside him in front of Sauron's black gates.

"No!" Aragorn gasped as he began running desperately to escape the endless rows of prisoners. "They are all dead!  They can not be here!  What is this madness?  Someone tell me!"

Flames suddenly leapt up in front of Aragorn, forcing him onto the ground.  Dazed, he shut his eyes to the world as it seemed to rotate around him.  Opening them again, Aragorn was shocked to see that the ravine was once more silent and lit only by the pale moonlight above.  Turning his head to the manacles lining the walls, Aragorn saw that they were all empty again.

"What was that?" Aragorn muttered to himself. "What is this place?  Where am I?"

"Look up," Came the same whispered voice, carried by a wisp of freezing air, past his ear.  

Turning his eyes skyward, Aragorn saw a dark shadow blocking part of the moon from view.  It appeared to be a tall, narrow tower of some sort.  Yet it seemed hauntingly familiar to Aragorn.  The moon behind the tower began to lift higher into the night sky until its light reflected off the tower's front.  Aragorn gasped in realization.

It was Orthanc.

"So what does this mean?" Aragorn called out into the empty ravine. "If that is Orthanc, than I must be in the caverns of Isengard.  But why?  What is happening in this forsaken place?"

"Aragorn."

The whispered voice was louder this time.  Aragorn suddenly found it vaguely familiar.

"Show me who you are," The former ranger's voice echoed throughout the cavern. "Let me see who has brought me to Isengard and shown me such horrors."

"Aragorn," The voice became clearer and Aragorn suddenly jumped with sudden recognition. "Aragorn, you must be careful."

Aragorn spun around and found himself face to face with the last person he expected.

"…Boromir…"

Boromir looked upon his former comrade with solemn eyes. "My time here is short," As Boromir spoke, his body began to fade away. "Head my warning, Aragorn.  Darkness is coming.  I am sorry."

And then he was gone.  Aragorn found himself alone once more in the caverns of Isengard.

"Boromir?  Boromir!"

Aragorn suddenly found himself lying in his own bed, sweating and panting.  Beside him, Arwen awoke and placed a gentle hand against his rough cheek.

"Estel, you are trembling.  What have you seen in your dreams?"

"Many things," Aragorn shook the last remains of sleep from his head. "I saw Boromir and horrors within the caverns of Isengard.  I believe he was trying to warn me of evil forming beneath Orthanc."

"Is not Orthanc still under the guard of the Ents?"

"It was the last time I rode past there.  Yet I can not help but worry."

Arwen sat up and stared at her husband, searching his face for something unknown. "Estel, I know very well that when you start worrying your mood affects all.  I for one would not like to see all of the staff depressed because of you.  So what are you going to do to cease these worries and save us all from your depression?"

"I do not become that depressed!" Aragorn mock glared at his wife. "But I will try to do something to alleviate these worries.  I shall send a message to Éomer this very night," 

The King of Gondor grunted as he got out of bed and sat at his writing desk. "I will ask him to send a patrol up to Isengard to make sure that all is well.  That should settle things.  I pray to Valar that what I have seen in my dreams was simply a nightmare and nothing more."

"And yet that will not mollify your fears," Arwen said matter-of-factly as she got out of the bed to join him. "You seek answers now."

Aragorn gave his wife a tired smile. "You know me too well."

"Of coarse I know you too well, my love," Arwen smiled as she rubbed her fingers in soothing circles against his temples. "Remember that I have known you since you were a stubborn little child who could barely see over the table in the dining hall." 

Aragorn chuckled. "In case you failed to notice, I have grown up quite a bit since then."

"Physically, you have.  Yet there are times when you still think like a child," she gave her husband a quick kiss. "I find it very charming."

He chuckled again and took one of his wife's hands in his own. "Thank you, my dearest Arwen.  That small bit of mirth you have shared with me has lightened my mind considerably.  Yet I can not shake all of the darkness I felt in that dream."

 "Speak to someone of this dream, my love.  If not me, then someone else that may understand," As she spoke, Arwen headed back to bed. "Rest, Estel."

"I shall come to bed later," Aragorn muttered. "For now, I must think."

And so the Queen of Gondor fell back to sleep while her husband sat in silence, pondering all that he had seen.

**A/N: The plot thickens.  What did Boromir mean?  The answers are coming, but not for another chapter or two. Coming up; Faramir journeys to Minas Tirith and is joined by some unexpected, but welcome company.   **


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: It's been way too long since my last update.  I'm very sorry for making everyone wait.  I just finished the fall semester a few days ago.  The last month or so has had me so busy writing lab reports and studying for endless exams that I just couldn't find time to do any free writing.  Now that I'm on winter break, you can all expect some much needed updates. **

The action starts in this chapter, though not until the second half.  A few recognizable characters join in and the mystery increases further. 

SarahB: No, I'm not the Nightstalker from the "Hornblower" boards.  I don't even know what "Hornblower" is.  Sorry.

**Chapter 2**

The first rays of morning saw Prince Faramir in the stables, attending to his horse.  He could have asked a stable hand to do it, but he found the quiet, monotonous task of brushing the coat to quiet his restless mind.  Eowyn stood silently off to the side, occasionally stepping in to assist her husband.  Faramir was about to lead the horse outside and mount up when one of his advisors appeared in the stable entrance.

"My lord, you have a visitor."

It was all Faramir could do not to simply get on his horse and run the man over. "As you can see, I am in haste.  I do not have the time to spare for any visitors.  I must reach Minas Tirith by tomorrow night.  Tell this visitor that I shall meet with him upon my return."

"That is what I told him, my lord, but he insists upon seeing you immediately and swears that he will not take long."

_How many times have I heard that one before? Faramir mentally winced.  Duty winning over everything else, Faramir reluctantly handed the reigns over to Eowyn and stalked out of the stables after his advisor, grumbling all the way.  Every fiber of his being wanted to simply run back to his horse and ride off, but his duty as Prince of Ithilien obligated him to see this visitor and conduct the meeting with all dignity.  His relentless questions would simply have to wait a few more hours._

Faramir was about to enter his home and make for the sitting room where he usually received guests when his advisor stopped him for the second time that day.

"Forgive me my lord, but he insisted on meeting you outside in the gardens."

This stopped Faramir in his tracks.  Lords and nobles always conducted their business with others in a designated meeting room.  It was not unusual for a noble to request a meeting elsewhere; whatever he could do to give himself an advantage during negotiations; but requesting a meeting in the gardens was unheard of.  Garden meetings were typically only for lovers, family, and very close friends.  His curiosity piqued, Faramir allowed himself to be led away from the house.  A new question was added to the ever growing collection in his mind.  Who was this visitor?

They entered the gardens and found no one there to meet them.

"This is most odd, my lord," The advisor scratched his head. "I swear that I left him here a moment ago.  Where could he have gone?"

"Indeed you did leave me here," A voice from the trees above them called out, causing both men to jump in surprise. "But I find the trees a more comfortable place to wait than the ground."

Looking upward, Faramir caught a glimpse of very familiar blonde hair among the leaves and branches.  A broad smile crossed his face and the prince nearly laughed out loud in delight at seeing the last person he expected.

"Well met, Legolas!" He chuckled as the son of Thranduil leapt to the ground and landed with notable cat-like grace.

"_Mae govannae, honored Prince of Ithilien," Legolas answered with a mock bow. "It has been so dreadfully long since we last spoke, my liege, even for an immortal being such as myself."_

Faramir rolled his eyes, but smiled at the elven prince's mannerism.  Faramir's advisor, meanwhile, stared in mixed shock and disgust at the elf's reckless behavior and casual address to his lord.  
"What can I do for you, Legolas?" Faramir came straight to the point.  As much as he enjoyed the elf prince's company, Faramir was still in a hurry. 

As if reading his mind, and there were times when Faramir swore he could, Legolas smiled knowingly. "I know that you are in a hurry to get to Minas Tirith and I did say that this meeting would be quick.  I wish to ask you a simple question."

"Oh?" Faramir raised an eyebrow. "And what is this question?"

"May I accompany you on your journey to Minas Tirith?"

The Prince of Ithilien did a double take. "That is all?"

Legolas nodded.

"Well, yes.  I would appreciate your company.  Why?"

Legolas motioned for Faramir to follow him as he headed for the stables. "This meeting was intended to be brief and I mean to keep it that way.  I asked to join you and you said yes.  Any other questions may be answered while we travel."

Faramir could not help but laugh. "I knew there was a reason why I liked you from the moment we first met, Legolas.  The unfailing logic of the elves is a breath of fresh air in relation to the vague politics of Men."

The elf prince smiled in response. "If this meeting is done, then I suggest we ride.  We have already lost precious time standing here and talking.  Gimli will be getting impatient."

"Gimli?" Faramir stopped short. "He is here as well?"

"Yes, he is with Arod near the stables."

"You do know that I could punish you for lying to me, Lord of the Ithillien elves.  You said that only you would be accompanying me, not an entire group."

"If you would recall, _my lord, I did not ask to accompany you alone."_

Faramir merely rolled his eyes again and smiled. "And here I thought that elves were not capable of deceit."

"Only to those who do not look hard enough."

As the pair continued their verbal sparring, they came upon the stables.  Sure enough, Gimli and Arod were there.  The dwarf was leaning against the outer wall, watching as Eowyn affectionately stroking Arod's mane, with an air of disbelief.  Arod, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying Eowyn's attentions.  The stallion of Rohan nuzzled her cheek with his nose in affectionate recognition.

"I honestly do not see how any could hug that unpredictable beast as if he was a gentle babe," Gimli scoffed. "He could turn and bite your hand off at any time, I will have you know."

Eowyn laughed and patted the stallion's broad shoulders. "He might bite a dwarf that insults his intelligence, but never one he has known since he was a colt."

"Och!  I will never understand how you Rohirrim can stand those crazy beasts; much less treat them with such reverence.  They are wild, ill-tempered, bull headed, wiley-"

"And here I thought you were beginning to enjoy riding," Legolas interrupted as he and Faramir came into view.

"The day I express any enjoyment in riding that demon is the day I shave my beard," Gimli growled back.

"Then perhaps, with the amount of time you have been spending on Arod's back, I may see a bare faced dwarf before I cross the sea," The elf grinned.

Gimli would have countered the elf with an equally nasty comment when Faramir interrupted.

"Gentlemen, or gentledwarf and gentleelf as the case may be, I believe that we are all in a hurry to reach Minas Tirith as soon as possible.  You may settle this as we travel.  Now let us be off."  
Legolas and Gimli looked at each other and a silent message passed between them.  Nodding in unison, they both mounted onto Arod.  Faramir gave Eowyn a quick kiss before he too mounted up.  

As the sun steadily rose over Middle Earth, three riders upon two horses could be seen galloping across the fields toward Minas Tirith.

*          *          *

It was the perfect day for riding.  The sun shone warm and bright upon the plains.  The lush fields of grass swayed in a light breeze.  The scent of fresh flowers perfumed the air while bird songs filled the world with serene music.  Everywhere you looked, there was peace and happiness.  It was one of those days when nothing could spoil someone's happiness; especially the happiness of two particular hobbits.

Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrine Took laughed and chatted as they rode their ponies over the rolling fields.  The two Rohirrim escorting them could not help but smile and laugh along with their smaller charges.  Every year, the Riders of Rohan would do everything they could think of to curry favor with King Éomer and gain the privilege of escorting the two halfling knights on their annual journey to Rohan and Gondor. The competition sometimes got a bit fierce, but the reward was always worth it.  Merry and Pippin provided a fresh outlook on life to their escorts.  It was amazing that they still maintained a bit of their old innocence, even after all they had experienced during the War of the Ring four years ago.  That innocence was contagious to the Riders of Rohan, making the trip from Rivendell to Rohan and Gondor more of a vacation than a mission.  

This year, Ranan and Baldor were the lucky riders that won the privilege of escort duty; having spent the past few months shining the saddles of Éomer's favorite horses at the crack of dawn every morning.  As they rode, the two Rohirrim attempted to learn the tavern songs of the hobbits and would sing along at each chorus.  It was a strange thing to see and hear two noble riders of the Mark and two halfling knights belting out bawdy tavern songs, but none of them seemed to care.  All that was on their minds was enjoying a nice, relaxing ride.

As the sun began to set upon the horizon, Pippin assumed his usual role of enquiring when they were going to stop for the night.  The hobbit's stomach gave an encouraging growl that caused the Rohan guards to chuckle.  Merry's stomach growled back in agreement. 

"Fear not, master hobbits, for we will stop soon," Baldor smiled. "Fangorn forest is just in the distance, close enough to Isengard that we will be safe for the night.  The Ents have made sure that no evil has entered these parts since Sauron fell."

 "Well that's a relief to hear," Pippin sighed as he hopped off his pony's back and immediately went for the saddle bags filled with provisions. "I for one never want to see this area like it once was, all barren and filled to the brink with those Uruk-hai." 

"You and me both, Pip.  I don't ever want to see any breed of orc again for the rest of my life and beyond," Grumbled Merry as he brought out pots to boil water.

Ranan looked up from where he had been building the fire. "As long as the Ents guard Isengard, we are completely safe in these parts.  We shall all rest easy tonight."

"You might, but I won't rest easy until I'm well away from this area," Merry mumbled to himself, a shudder running down his spine as unwanted memories of the past threatened to surface.

Within hours the four travelers were rolling out bedding.  Pippin sighed with contentment as he flopped onto his back upon his pile of blankets, hands resting upon his full stomach.

"Ah yes, a nice hobbit-sized meal was just what this Took needed," The younger hobbit gave his belly an appreciative pat. "The quest would have been much less traumatic if Gandalf had let us pack more food.  Don't you think so, Merry?  Merry?"

But Merry either did not hear the question or was ignoring his cousin.  He was sitting on the edge of the light given off by the fire.  His head was drooping forward and shadows of the forest obscured any expression that was upon his face.  His hands were clenched into fists within his lap, as if he was trying to resist the urge to lash out at something in anger.  When Merry made no response to the question, Pippin was instantly on his guard.  He had learned by now that when Merry sat so still, danger was drawing near.

Ranan glanced over at the still hobbit. "Master Meriadoc?  Is all well?"

The young Brandybuck lifted his head slightly, just enough for the fire light to illuminate the tense frown upon his face.  "Something evil's drawing closer.  I can practically taste the darkness emanating from it," His voice was scarcely above a whisper. 

"Merry?" Pippin walked over to his cousin, loosening his sword in its scabbard. "What is it, Merry?  What's coming?"

Merry simply gazed off into the forest. "It's here."

It was at that moment that a snapping twig on the outskirts of the camp caught everyone's attention.  Both hobbits unsheathed their swords and the two Rohirrim notched arrows to their bows.  All weapons were instantly pointing at the black cloaked figure that stepped into the firelight.  Gloved hands rose upward from within the confines of the cloak in a gesture of surrender.

"Peace, friends, for I mean no harm.  Forgive me for startling you, but I had hoped that you might share your fire with a weary traveler this night." 

"We will share the fire if you identify yourself as a friend, rather than a foe," Ranan pulled his arrow farther back on the bow string. "Show your face."

Wordlessly, the cloaked figure reached for his hood and pulled it back, revealing the face of a man in his late twenties.  His face was streaked with dirt and his matted blonde hair swept past his shoulders.  Both Baldor's and Ranan's eyes widened in disbelief.

"This can not be," Baldor gasped. "Gárulf?  Is it truly you?" [1]

The cloaked man nodded and smiled gently at the Rohirrim. "Indeed it is I, Baldor.  Long have been the years since we were last together."

"But this is impossible!" Ranan burst out. "You were slain by Saruman's Uruk-hai four years ago.  We saw you fall and buried you with two others.  To this day, I still remember how your mount, Hasufel, mourned for your loss. "

Gárulf merely smiled at his fellow Rohirrim's outburst. "Indeed I did fall, Ranan.  But I was still clinging to life by a thread when my body was buried.  Shortly after the company departed, I was able to claw my way back to the surface through the loose dirt of my grave.  Even though I was in the open air once more, I almost died for real.  As luck would have it, some refugees on their way to Edoras happened upon me and tended to my injuries.  Alas, for the trauma of my situation affected my memory and so I ended up wandering in the wild these past four years without knowing who I was.  Only a few weeks ago did I stumble upon the place where I had been wrongly buried and my full memories returned."

"I can not believe this," Ranan muttered under his breath, though he lowered his bow.

Baldor, on the other hand, dropped his bow entirely and embraced his lost comrade. "All this time I thought you were dead, but you have been brought back to us.  This is truly a miracle."

"Amazing," Pippin smiled as he turned to Merry. "Even after four years, old friends who've survived the war are still being reunited.  Isn't this amazing Merry?"

But Merry did not share the younger hobbit's delight.  He was staring intently at the man before him, trying to figure out why he felt so cold and uneasy in this man's presence.  The last time he had ever felt this cold was when…no, he would not think about that.  Memories such as that one were something he did not wish to dwell on.  It was at that moment that Gárulf turned to face the hobbits directly.  Merry gasped and recoiled in shock.

The Man's eyes were glowing blood red.

"Merry?  Merry what is it?  What's wrong?" Pippin grabbed his cousin by the arm as he tried to back up.  He looked up at the long lost rider of Rohan in confusion.  The man seemed normal enough to him.  What would make Merry become so terrified all of a sudden?

Merry shakily spoke to Pippin in a low voice without taking his sight off of those horrid eyes. "Look at his eyes, Pippin.  What do you see?"

"His eyes?" Pippin looked back up at the Man, analyzing him carefully before turning back to Merry. "His eyes aren't that bad, Merry.  They're actually a nice shade of blue with a little green mixed in."

"No!" Merry hissed. "They're not blue, they're red.  They're glowing the same color as blood."

"Is there a problem, Master Meriadoc?" Baldor turned to where Merry was trying to wrestle his way out of Pippin's grip.

"Get him away!" Merry suddenly screamed. "He's not your friend!  His eyes are red like fresh blood!  Get him away!"

Pippin kept a desperate grip on Merry's shoulders. "Stop it Merry!  His eyes aren't red!  It's all right, he's their friend!"

"No!  He reeks of darkness!  Let me go!"

Gárulf watched the struggling hobbit with growing horror.  He knew.  How was it possible that this halfling could see the truth?  The Man's eyes narrowed dangerously as he pulled a sword hidden in his cloak loose from its scabbard.  Whoever this little being was, he could not be allowed to live, lest he ruin all future plans.  

"Gárulf, what are you doing?" Baldor shouted as he and Ranan leapt in front of their fellow rider.

In a flash of steel, both riders of Rohan fell dead to the ground before either could choke out a scream.  Gárulf turned again to the hobbits and lifted his blood stained blade into the air.  Pippin stared down at their fallen guards and then back up to their murderer in terror.  His mind in turmoil, the young hobbit barely remembered grabbing Merry by the arm and running for his life.  

Together they ran toward the distant shadows of Fangorn forest, the murdering Rohirrim on their heels.  The looming branches of the trees were soon over their heads and they plunged into the darkness.  Gárulf tried to follow, but roots began to spring up from the ground, tripping him and creating greater distance between the Man and his prey.  Howling in frustration, Gárulf began hacking away at the roots with his sword.  He could not let those halflings escape!  

As they ran, the hobbits heard the trees begin to moan in anger.  Several branches swept down, as if trying to swat them away, but the hobbits managed to duck and weave their way through the onslaught.  All around them, Fangorn forest roared from the pain of its roots being sliced.  Spotting a gap between the roots of a particularly large tree, Merry dove in and dragged Pippin down with him.  Even with the forest slowing their pursuer, there was no way that two hobbits could outrun a fully grown Man bent on their blood.  Without warning, the roots they hid among shifted and the two hobbits were suddenly lifted into the air by two arm-like branches.  Gárulf came crashing through the enraged forest.  Seeing his quarry trapped within the branches of the tree, he let out a harsh laugh and charged them with his sword raised.

The Man barely knew what hit him as the tree holding the hobbits raised up half of its roots and brought them down upon him, ending the Man's life instantly.  

"_Hrum__, Hoom," A deep, rumbling voice sounded above the hobbits. "I did not think to see you in the forest so soon again, little hobbits."_

Merry and Pippin looked up from the branches that entangled them and twin smiles broke out on their faces.  Overjoyed, Pippin cried out to their rescuer.

"Treebeard!"

[1] For those who haven't read the books, Gárulf was the original rider of Hasufel, the horse that Éomer loaned to Aragorn in "The Two Towers".  He was one of three slain while battling the party of Uruk-hai that had captured Merry and Pippin.  

**Author's Notes: Wow, I can't believe how long it's taken me to finish this chapter.  It's actually good timing, since "The Two Towers" was just released and more people know who the Ents are now. Fear not, the next chapter is mapped out and should be up by next week when I return from a brief vacation.  This was my first time attempt to write action, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated.   **

Lost?  Want to know what exactly is going on here?  In the next chapter, some much needed answers are revealed…


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!!!  I promised that this next chapter would be out sooner.  I'm really sorry it's late.  My only excuse is that it's hard to get inspired since my muse found herself a boyfriend. *sigh* Add the fact that my beta is currently touring Europe and I think it's a decent enough excuse.  Again I'm really sorry about the lateness of this chapter.**

This chapter skips around quite a bit since there's a lot going on.  Answers are finally revealed…at least a few…

Jedi Knight 666: All I can say is wait and see. Heh…heh…heh…

**Chapter 3 **

"Treebeard!"

"Yes, my little friends.  It is I.  And I am glad to see both of you again," The eldest of the Ents rumbled in his deep voice. "I am also glad to see that I could aid you against your pursuer."

Merry sighed in relief, as though a great burden had been lifted off of his shoulders. "And for that, you have our thanks, Treebeard.  I didn't think we would be able to escape from him much longer.  It's wonderful to see you again."

Treebeard lifted the two hobbits up higher; placing them carefully on his shoulders and began to walk deeper into Fangorn Forest.  As the great Ent lumbered along, the two hobbits leaned back and shared a secret smile behind his head.  They had once told Frodo and Sam that, though they claimed out loud it was uncomfortable riding on Treebeard's shoulders, they had secretly enjoyed it.  After looking up at their non-hobbit friends for so long, it was very refreshing to be in a position much higher than even the tallest of men and elves.  Pippin was especially disappointed that Aragorn and Legolas were never present when they did ride atop the Ent and he could never gloat about having the best vantage point.

Treebeard began to speak again in his rumbling voice, catching both of their attentions again. "Strange times these have become, little hobbits.  When first we met, you were escaping from orcs.  In this new meeting, you were escaping from a human, and a strange human at that.  Dark were his thoughts, and full of anger.  The trees could sense his ill intent."

"What's so strange about that?  There are lots of Men with ill intentions out there," Pippin piped up.

The Ent shook his great head, nearly knocking both hobbits off their perches. "Not ill like this one, Master Pippin.  The trees could feel pure darkness emanating from the very core of his being.  Men as evil as that one were once rare in this world.  _Hrum, yes, they were very rare indeed."_

Pippin leaned over so that he was looking into one giant brown eye. "You mean that they're not rare anymore?  Why is that? What is going on around here?"

"Now, do not be hasty, Master Pippin," Treebeard chided the elder hobbit like one would a small child.  "How can such a small creature ask so many questions at one time?  We Ents are still pondering many answers to the riddles of this world."

_Knowing them, it'll already be the Fifth Age before they figure out any answers to those questions.  Merry rolled his eyes.  Suddenly, he was struck with a very important question._

"Treebeard," Merry said with a very serious tone. "I thought you and the Ents were guarding Isengard.  Why are you here in the forest and not there?"

Treebeard abruptly stopped dead in his tracks.  The flash of green fire within his eyes dulled slightly as his features sagged in defeat.  He turned his head so that one eye could focus on Merry.

"Forgive me, my friends," He replied sorrowfully. "But we have failed.  Evil has come once again to Isengard and the fires of its caverns have been rekindled."

"What?!" Merry and Pippin cried out in unison. 

"But how?" Pippin yelled in one of his ears.

"And why?" Merry yelled into the other.  

"Hobbits are indeed the hastiest of all folk," Treebeard huffed indignantly. "You assume that we failed because we were not vigilant enough or that we did not fight our hardest.  I can hear it in your voices.  Know this, little hobbits; we Ents did all that we could to stop darkness from returning to Isengard.  But despite our efforts, we were overwhelmed.  There was nothing we could do to stop it.  We had no choice but to return to the forest before any more of us were destroyed."

"I'm sorry, Treebeard," Merry sighed. "Neither of us meant to accuse you and the other Ents of not doing your job.  I guess we're just shocked that Isengard is no longer under your protection."

From his position on the opposite shoulder, Pippin was strangely quiet with a somber expression on his face.  In a deadly serious voice, he questioned his old friend. "Treebeard, tell us what exactly happened when darkness returned to Isengard."

"It is a long story," Treebeard said as he resumed walking. "But since you are such hasty folk, I shall try and make it as short as possible.  Now, where shall I begin…"

*          *          *

"So, Legolas, are you going to tell me exactly why you are on your way to Minas Tirith?"

The elven prince turned in Arod's saddle and shot Faramir an all-too-innocent smile.  

"Is paying a friendly visit to our beloved king not a reasonable enough excuse for you, Prince Faramir?  Or would you prefer that I stay with the excuse of simply wishing to spend some 'male bonding' time, as your kind say, with you?"

Biting back the urge to strangle the Elf with his own bowstring, Faramir sighed and began to slow his horse down.  Since the moment they had left together, Faramir had been trying to find out the real reason why Legolas and Gimli had suddenly shown up at his home and wished to accompany him.  So far, Legolas had come up with at least ten fake reasons ranging from a simple visit to stealing Anduril in order to give Gimli's beard a trim.  As they halted the horses and prepared to bed down for the night, Faramir felt he would go completely mad if the Elf did not start explaining.   

"I suggest that you heed my advice and simply give up, Faramir," Gimli chuckled when he saw Faramir glaring daggers in Legolas' direction. "I have learned much about this Elf in the time we have spent together.  One of the most important things I learned was that if Legolas has something he does not wish to share, he'll keep his mouth shut until the end of time.  There is nothing in this world short of the Valar themselves that will ever drag it out of him.  If you want to know what he is hiding, than all you can do is wait until he decides the appropriate time has come."

Legolas laughed softly. "There are many secrets of mine that Gimli is still waiting to learn about.  I have decided that he will hear the majority of them on his deathbed, when I know he will not be able to share them with anyone."

"And by doing this, you will assure that none but your Dwarven friend's corpse will ever know of any embarrassing childhood secrets?" Faramir chuckled.

Legolas sent a glare of his own in the Prince of Ithilien's direction. "I have no secrets that could ever be classified as embarrassing."

"What about that little incident you told me about involving two kegs of ale, your father's favorite crown and a spider web spreading across the armory doorway?" Gimli snickered. 

Legolas bit back any retort.  After all, there was nothing he could say that could possibly pull him out of the hole Gimli had just dug for him.  So, ignoring Faramir's attempt to stifle a laugh, the elven prince let his usual look of perfect nobility mask his emotions and turned around, effectively smacking the dwarf in the back of the head with his bow.  

Faramir could no longer keep his mirth at bay.  Peals of laughter burst forth as he clutched his aching sides.  It took several moments before his laughter subsided.  Taking a deep breath to calm himself again, Faramir turned to speak with Legolas.

"So be it.  Keep your secrets _my lord until you deem the proper time to reveal them," Faramir chuckled softly as he fell into his bedroll. "I shall be patient in waiting for that time.  However, you must promise me one thing."_

"I will make that promise if it seems appropriate," The Elf solemnly nodded.

Faramir flashed him a devilish grin. "You will elaborate on this childhood story that Gimli has partially revealed to me.  And you will do this long before I am on my deathbed."

Fighting back the urge to plunge one of his knives into the dwarf's skull, Legolas reluctantly nodded. "I will keep that promise.  Now, _my lord, it would be wise for all of us to rest."_

"I agree.  Goodnight," Faramir suppressed a smile of triumph and closed his eyes.

*          *          *

Faramir was unsure as to what had woken him up.  The fire was still crackling away, indicating that he had only been asleep for an hour or two.  From where he lay, Faramir could see and hear Gimli snoring away on his own bedroll.  Whatever had awoken the Man had obviously not had the same effect on the Dwarf.  Faramir closed his eyes and attempted to block out the sounds of the fire and Gimli's snores.  It was then that he heard another noise that was only slightly softer than any other sounds.  It was the sound of someone singing.  More important, that song was sung in Sindarin.  Opening his eyes again, Faramir scanned the campsite for the only one who could possibly be singing at such an ungodly hour.

He spotted Legolas perched among the low branches of a beech tree.  It occurred to Faramir that Gimli must have learned to tune out the Elf's nightly songs during their numerous travels together.  The Elven prince's eyes were focused on the thousands of stars in the heavens as he sang.  With his own limited knowledge of the elven languages, Faramir was able to piece together most of the song's lyrics.  The Elf was singing of his sorrow and confusion caused by something the Prince of Ithilien could not translate.

"There is a great deal in this world that causes sorrow and confusion for me as well," Faramir spoke up from where he lay.

Legolas immediately stopped his song and turned his gaze down to the Man. "I had hoped that the stars might give me some answers.  Forgive me for waking you."

"My thoughts have been racing so fast lately that I believe almost any noise could easily wake me.  I doubt that I will get a full night's sleep again until I find some answers," Faramir smiled. "Why are you still awake?  I know that Elves may go longer than a Man without rest, but there is no danger for miles and so there is no reason for you to neglect any chance to rest."

"I too will not find any decent rest until I find answers as well," The Elf sighed as he gracefully leapt from the tree and landed in a crouch beside Faramir. "I can only hope that some of those answers will be found in Minas Tirith."

It took every ounce of control within Faramir to keep from asking the Elf's reasons for traveling to Minas Tirith again.  Unfortunately, Legolas easily caught the question in the Man's eyes.  Smirking, Legolas sat down on the ground and bid Faramir to rise from where he lay.  The Prince of Ithilien sat up and fixed the Elf with a calculating glance.  What was the Elf prince up to this time?  Legolas passed scrutinizing eyes over Faramir for a moment.  An uncomfortable silence fell between them as the Elf searched for something unknown on the Man's face.  The Elf's eyes suddenly lit up with triumph and he sat back.

"I told you that I would speak of my reasons for joining you when I deemed the time to be right, Faramir.  Now is that time."

Faramir could not help his sigh of relief.  He had been at the point where he would have throttled Legolas if the Elf delayed any more.  Legolas chuckled at the Man's reaction before turning somber once more.

"My dreams have been very troubling as of late," The lowered his voice so Gimli would not be disturbed. "I have seen horrific visions of the caverns of Isengard where thousands of tortured and mutilated Men are chained up.  Orcs rise up from the mud like insects.  The sounds of pain and torment are overwhelming.  The tower of Orthanc itself glows red in the light of the fires within those caverns.  I fear that something has or will happen in Isengard that the Ents can not stop."

"And so you are going to Minas Tirith to see if King Elessar has heard of any strange happenings in Isengard lately?" Faramir interjected.

"Partially," Legolas nodded gravely. "But there is more.  I fear that Minas Tirith may also be in danger.  In some of my dreams, I see the White City being attacked by an army cloaked in shadow.  It is strange, though.  The attack does little to damage the Tower of Ecthelien.  The building that seems to take the most damage is the House of Stewards."

"Most strange.  I could understand visions of the House of Kings being ransacked, for those are the most valuable tombs.  But why would anyone attack the House of Stewards?" Faramir pondered out loud.

Legolas nodded in agreement. "That is exactly what I mean to ask Aragorn.  There may be something hidden within the House of Stewards of great value that we do not know of."

"The only things of great value within those hallowed halls are the remains of the Stewards and their families…including my brother," The Prince of Ithilien shuddered as he remembered the vision of his Boromir's spirit.  

"It would appear that I am not the only one who is disturbed by visions," Legolas said when he saw the Man's shoulders shake. "You react to the description of my visions as though you know exactly what kind of horrors I have seen."

Faramir lowered his head and spoke in scarcely more than a whisper. "Indeed I have had visions of my own, Legolas, though they were not as graphic as yours." He paused a moment before continuing. "The spirit of my brother came to me in my dreams last night.  He warned me of an army of darkness and asked me to protect something important.  Unfortunately, I have no idea what he wants me to protect.  I did not get the chance to ask him, for he was dragged away by ghostly chains.  There was nothing I could do to stop him from being taken away."

Legolas contemplated the Man's words for a moment. "It would appear that we travel to Minas Tirith on common purpose, then.  I suspect that you are going to ask Aragorn if he can unravel the mysteries of your vision.  Am I right?" 

Faramir nodded.

"Then it is fortunate our paths have crossed.  Alone, the unanswered questions from our dreams would surely drive us mad.  Together, we may be able to help each other.  I have a strong feeling that our visions connect in some way.  Boromir wants you to protect something of great importance and I have seen the House of Stewards being ransacked.  My suspicions may be correct.  There may be something important hidden within the House of Stewards that only Boromir knew about.  We shall have to question Aragorn about this."

Faramir nodded again. "Indeed, we shall.  Though I can not think of any item hidden within those halls that Boromir knew of and I did not.  This puzzle keeps getting more complicated by the day."   

Placing a hand on the Man's shoulder, Legolas smiled. "Perhaps it will be easier solved if Aragorn can aid both of us in finding answers.  Together, we will work through this."

"You two will not be able to work through anything in a moment," Growled Gimli on the other side of the camp fire. "I have half a mind to sink my axe into both of you for waking me with your talking."

"Only half a mind?" Legolas laughed. "Are you finally admitting to the higher intelligence of other races in comparison to the Dwarves?"

The Prince's answer was a throwing axe neatly embedded in the ground only inches from his thigh.  

Legolas cocked an eyebrow at the thrown weapon and smirked. "An Elf would have been able to land your axe far closer to me without causing damage."

Gimli simply growled again and rolled over as sleep claimed him again.  When the Dwarf's snores returned, Legolas turned back to Faramir.

"It is a pity that he is not so clever in his words when he first wakes up.  Some heated banter would have done wonders to lift my spirits."

Faramir shook his head in disbelief before fixing the Elf with his own scrutinizing gaze. "There is still one question you have yet to answer, my dear Elf prince."

"And what would that be?"

"How is it that you happened to show up on my doorstep the moment I was ready to leave for Minas Tirith?  Did you know that I was going?"

"I did not," Legolas replied with a slight grin. "Gimli and I were simply passing through on our way to Minas Tirith and thought it would be courteous to stop by and see if there was any news in your realm that might aid my search for answers.  It was by complete coincidence that I happened upon you as you were preparing to leave."

The Prince of Ithilien rolled his eyes. "No more excuses, Legolas.  I want the real story."

"But that is the real story," The Elf was the perfect picture of innocence.

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh…" Faramir looked away and lay back down.  He was just drifting off to sleep when he heard Legolas reply.

"Actually, I had been watching you for several hours and appeared just as you were leaving to lead you away from Éowyn.  Gimli secretly fancies her and owes me a favor for luring you away long enough for him to woo her.  I am afraid your wife's heart lies only with the Dwarf that seduced her now.  But you must not let this news trouble you.  Gimli shall make a fine adopted father to your child."

Legolas easily caught the rock that was thrown at his head.

*          *          * 

Aragorn had a headache.  Not one of those little annoying headaches that made a person feel sluggish and fatigued.  No, this headache was bordering on a full blown migraine.  He had dispatched a messenger at first light to ride to Rohan and inquire about the present condition of Isengard.  That was two days ago.  Normally, the king was a very patient person.  He could sit unmoving in a hole in the ground for days while waiting for the perfect opportunity to ambush a band of orcs, yet he could not find the patience to wait until the messenger returned with news.  His dream had unsettled him greatly and he found himself jumping at any sudden noises or movements.  Aragorn was disgusted with himself for acting so paranoid.  He had received unsettling dreams in his life before, but none of those ever affected him this much.  Arwen had tried to calm him several times, but her efforts were in vain.  Aragorn's fears could not be placated.  And so she left him alone in the library to try and relax.  Unfortunately, Aragorn's attempts to relax resulted in this killer headache that was driving him completely mad.

Aragorn wondered if it would be easier to simply bang his head against the nearest bookshelf until he was knocked unconscious.  He almost succeeded in doing so when a guard burst into the library.  

"My liege, you have visitors."

In his mind, Aragorn groaned and considered knocking the guard out before knocking himself out.  He had no desire to see any visitors while his head was exploding like Mount Doom.  Still, being a king meant he had to see to others before he could render himself unconscious.  

"Who are they?" He asked the guard with as much poise and dignity as he could muster at that moment.

"It is Prince Faramir and Prince Legolas along with Lord Gimli, my liege." 

Aragorn perked up. "Oh really?  Very well then.  Send them in."  
The guard bowed and hurried off to fetch the king's guests.  Meanwhile, Aragorn was beaming.  Legolas would surely be kind enough to knock him out for a while.  After all, that was what friends are for.  

A few minutes later, an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf stepped into the king's library.  Aragorn's smile fell when he saw how solemn they all looked.  Frowning, the King of Gondor gestured for them to sit on the couches that lined the room.

"What troubles you, my friends?" Aragon inquired.

"I could say the same to you, Aragorn," Legolas replied.

Gimli nodded. "He's right, Aragorn.  The bags under your eyes clearly show that you have not slept well for a while."

Aragorn sighed. "I was hoping no one would notice.  But why are all of you here?  I get the distinct feeling that this is not a simple visit."

"Elessar," Faramir jumped right to the point. "We have come to ask for your advice and guidance.  Legolas and I have received disturbing dreams two nights ago.  We believe they are visions of a coming evil."

Aragorn's head snapped up.  His own vision had been two nights ago. "Go on."

Legolas picked up where Faramir left off. "My vision was of terrible happenings in the caverns of Isengard and an attack on the Hall of Stewards here in Minas Tirith."

"And in my vision, my brother Boromir appeared and warned me of a growing darkness," Faramir added.

Aragorn frowned.  Legolas had seen Isengard and Faramir had seen Boromir.  The king thought back to his own dream when he saw both.  

"Gentlemen," The king's voice was deathly serious. "I believe we have a great deal to discuss."

**A/N: Before anyone attacks me about getting my information wrong, let me explain.  I know that, in the books, Boromir's body is not in the Hall of Stewards.  For this story, I thought it would be better for people to have actually seen his body in the elven boat (instead of Faramir simply having a vision of it) and brought it back to Minas Tirith, rather than letting it float out to sea.  It just seems to be the more intelligent thing to do.  Don't forget to send reviews.  They encourage me to work faster in the absence of my love-struck muse.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** My most profound apologies to my dear readers.  This chapter has been a long time coming these past four months.  I rarely had time to work on it, due to my hellish schedule this semester.  With all of the research projects I've been doing (five assigned in one week), my creativity had to take a back seat to boring logic.  Thankfully, I had a short break from all of my work and had an opportunity to do some REAL writing.  I needed that time too, since this chapter has the first real action scenes I've ever written.  I'm not joking when I say that writing action is HARD!  I have a lot more respect for authors like Cassia and Thundera Tiger, who write such incredible action sequences, now that I've tried my hand at it.  And, as an extra apology, this chapter is nice and long.  

**Chapter 4**

Aragorn seated himself on a couch next to Faramir and sighed.  "Now I am convinced that darkness has once more come to Isengard."

"My lord?" Faramir questioned Aragorn with a look of confusion. "How do you know of this?  Only Legolas had a vision of Isengard."

"No, Faramir," Aragorn sighed again. "He is not the only one to see the caverns of Isengard relit and Orthanc a haven for evil once more.  I have had a similar vision; and like all of yours, this vision came to me two nights ago."

All heads snapped up to look at the King of Gondor.  The lines of weariness that stretched across his face were now clearly evident as he remembered the terrifying vision.  Aragorn glanced up and met with Legolas' eyes.  A silent question was in them and Aragorn needed no words to understand that the Elf was asking him to speak of what he had seen.  

The king swallowed hard and allowed the horrifying details of his vision to come back. "I found myself alone in a dark tunnel.  Some mysterious force guided me out and I found myself in the caverns of Isengard.  They were dark and silent as they have been these past four years.  I moved to touch a rusted manacle along the wall and the caverns suddenly came to life.  There were flames everywhere and the bodies of tortured men were crammed along every wall.  At first, I had thought them to be nameless slaves, but closer inspection proved me wrong.  I knew many of these men.  They were soldiers of Gondor and Rohan, all of whom died at some point during the War of the Ring.  King Theoden was among them, as well as my old friend Halbarad.  I tried to escape the caverns, but the fires sprang up and trapped me.  I thought I was going to be burned alive when everything suddenly stopped.  I heard a voice warning me of the future and I yelled for whoever was speaking to show himself."  

Aragorn paused and looked at Faramir with the utmost seriousness. "It was Boromir, or at least his spirit, for his body was translucent and faded quickly."

"Then there must be a connection," Gimli spoke before anyone else could. "Boromir's warnings must pertain to some evil in those accursed pits."

"Did you have any visions, son of Glóin?" Aragorn asked, hoping that the Dwarf might be able to provide more details.

Gimli shook his head. "Nay, I did not.  If I had, all of you would have known by now.  Unlike some races, we Dwarves do not have need for hiding vital information."

Legolas' shoulders shook slightly at the jest, breaking the tense mood a bit. "I am sure that we will never have to worry about Gimli ever withholding any knowledge of visions or prophetic dreams.  In all my life, I have never once heard of a Dwarf receiving a dream of significant value, unless it be the whereabouts of a new spot to create yet another hole in the ground."

Gimli gave a small grunt of indignation. "And here I thought to keep you company on your journey and provide support as you tried to decipher that dream of yours.  If I am to be insulted for my labors, then you can simply do these things on your own from now on.  Faramir, let us all hope that your first child will never be as rude and stubborn as this Elf."

The Prince of Ithilien chuckled. "No indeed, master Dwarf.  A child like our dear Legolas would be quite a challenge to raise.  Then again, it would be even worse if he or she was as bull headed as you.  I must make sure to keep my first child well away from both of you until he or she reaches a less impressionable age, lest your more lacking qualities rub off."

"Och!  You would deny us the pleasure of seeing the wee thing?" Gimli chortled. "Though, I suppose that would be all right if you at least give it a good name.  Kór or Grîm would be strong names for a young boy and a girl might be called Varin or Nalin."

"Only a Dwarf would dare to call any offspring such uncouth names," Legolas replied with a barely visible smile. "An elven name would be much more appropriate for the heir of Prince Faramir of Ithilien and Éowyn the White Lady of Rohan; one that exemplifies the beauty of the land it is born in and the joy of all life."

Aragorn chuckled, "I am sure the hobbits would love to name your first child as well, Faramir."

"Gimli II would be a good name as well," Gimli muttered under his breath.

That was all it took to shatter the serious atmosphere in the library.  Faramir fell back against the couch, laughing hysterically.  Next to him, Aragorn was unsuccessfully trying to hold back his own laughter.  For a few seconds, all memories of visions and dreams were forgotten as everyone allowed their mirth to surface.      

Faramir wiped away the tears that were forming in his eyes and had to take a deep breath before being able to speak. "Had it occurred to none of you that perhaps Éowyn and I would like to be the ones to name our child?"

"With friends such as these?  Faramir, there is no chance that they will ever allow you and Éowyn to take on such a responsibility," Aragorn snickered.   

Faramir chuckled. "I can not wait until your beautiful queen is heavy with your own child, my liege.  Then you will get to experience the full force of busy-bodies such as these two rouges. "

"And not only rouges like us, Aragorn," Legolas smiled. "You will have to deal with rouges far worse than the Dwarf and I; namely, your brothers.  I can just imagine Elladan and Elrohir showing up the minute they receive word of Arwen's pregnancy.  In the months that follow, they will haunt your every step, always watching to see if you do anything that makes their younger sister the slightest bit uncomfortable.  And if you so much as cause your wife frown, they will pounce on you like wolves on a rabbit."

"Or perhaps they will pounce on you like Rohirrim on a horse thief," Faramir interjected.

"Or like hobbits on the last available mushroom," Gimli roared with laughter.

"I am fully aware of that, my friends," Aragorn interrupted their joke. "And so I will have taken precautions to ensure both the safety of my wife and my sanity whenever that time may come.  By the time I remember to send word of a future niece or nephew to the twin Lords of Rivendell, they will not be able to arrive until well after the child is born."

"If only Éowyn and I had thought of that earlier," Faramir shook his head.

Gimli's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Even if you had, rouges like Legolas and myself would still have found out and bothered you to death anyway.  Our methods of finding out would simply have been more cunning and deceitful."

The four of them laughed together and the final traces of worry and concern were scattered to the winds.  Faramir felt the burden of his vision lift for the first time and relished the chance to breathe easy again, even if it was only for a brief moment.  The Prince of Ithilien was about to tease Aragorn a bit more when the library doors were suddenly thrown open.  All mirth left as four heads turned to regard the lone, breathless, guard that stood in the entrance way.

"My liege," The guard gasped for breath. "I bear ill news from the lookout towers.  Uruk-hai have been spotted marching here from the northwest.  The guards could not tell how many, for they were too far away, but it appears to be a sizable force."

Aragorn stood and fixed the guard with a hard stare. "To my knowledge, the last of Saruman's Uruk-hai were destroyed shortly after the war.  Are you sure they are not simply orcs?"

"Mere orcs would not venture forth in the middle of the day," Legolas stated as he gazed upon the bright afternoon sun through one of the library's enormous windows. "Even if their numbers are great, they know it is folly to attack the White City so directly."

The guard began to squirm slightly under his king's gaze. "Sire, many at the lookouts have fought against the armies of both Saruman and the Dark One.  They are willing to bet their lives that these are Uruk-hai."

The king turned away from the guard and stared thoughtfully out the window. He remained silent for a moment, pondering the current situation.  After a moment, he spoke up. "How far?"

"Less than two leagues away, my lord.  They will be here in two, perhaps three, hours.  They do not appear to be in a great hurry to get here."

Gimli and Legolas immediately turned to each other and silent messages seemed to pass to pass between them.  Nodding in silent agreement, they turned to Faramir.  The steward could see the question that burned in their eyes and nodded once to the Elf and Dwarf before turning to Aragorn.

"So be it. We shall all fight," Aragorn gave a quick nod of thanks to his friends before turning back to the still panting guard. "Rally the soldiers to the outer wall.  I want every archer we can spare to be atop the ramparts within the hour.  Not even one of those abominations is to set foot inside this city.  Dismissed."

The guard bowed quickly and ran off to carry out the king's orders.  Once he was gone, Aragorn turned back to his friends. "Let us head to the armory, for I see that none of you came here fully prepared for a battle."

They turned and strode out of the library, making it a point to ignore Gimli's grumbled protests about how dwarves are always ready to do battle at a moments notice.  As they walked, Aragorn turned to Faramir with a half smile on his face.

"To think I was reluctant at first to reclaim the throne because I feared being bored to tears the rest of my life."

Faramir chuckled. "Elessar, my friend, how wrong you were."

*          *          *

Within the hour, all available soldiers and archers were lined up along the outer wall that encased the city of Minas Tirith.  Aragorn, Faramir, Legolas, and Gimli stood among them, clad in mail and ready for battle.  Faramir and Legolas had brought several quivers each up from the armory and were currently rubbing their bow strings with a block of beeswax.  Gimli switched his multiple axes between his hands, testing their balance, though he knew they were perfect.  Aragorn, meanwhile, stood still as if he were one of the rocks that they stood upon.  His hand rested lightly upon the hilt of Andúril while his eyes were riveted to the shapeless mass of black heading straight toward the city.  Legolas and the lookouts had been right.  No orc would dare attack such a heavily fortified city in the middle of the day and no common orc stood as tall as the creatures before them.  So it was true; the Uruk-hai had not been completely destroyed after the war.  Raising a hand above his head, the King of Gondor and Arnor signaled for his archers to notch their bows.  In the distance, an orc horn sounded and the Uruk-hai charged forward just as Aragorn swept his hand down and hundreds of arrows were released.

The next few minutes were a blur of colors, shapes, and sounds to all defending the walls.  The sun glinted off polished armor as bows were drawn and released, sending hails of arrows toward the enemy.  The Uruk-hai appeared to be one dark shapeless mass as the minions of darkness crowded together against the walls in their assault.  The bodies were so pressed together that aim was hardly needed by the soldiers.  A blind man could shoot an arrow into the mass of enemies and still be guaranteed a hit.  

The shrieks of death from the Uruk-hai were almost completely drowned out by the battle cries of the others.  Fallen bodies were carelessly trampled as ladders were brought forth to scale the white walls.  However, Aragorn was ready for such a maneuver.  Shouting over the twanging of bowstrings, he ordered the remaining soldiers to attack the ladders.  The few enemies that actually made it up the ladders without being shot were quickly cut down and their ladders thrown back before any could set foot inside the city.  The men upon the wall cheered as each attempt by the Uruk-hai was easily thwarted.  

However there were some among the soldiers that did not cheer.  Throughout the entire battle, Faramir had grown increasingly edgy.  Something was not right about this battle.  While the Uruk-hai attacked in great numbers, their strategies were pathetic.  There were no long range weapons possessed by the enemies, such as bows, crossbows, or catapults.  The orcs were simply swarming at the wall with a few ladders like ants.  Another factor that unnerved him was the fact that there were very few shields among the enemy.  Surely the Uruk-hai must have anticipated being attacked by volleys of arrows during the assault, yet they carried virtually no defense against long range weapons.  From what Mithrandir told him years ago, the Uruk-hai were bred to be far more intelligent and cunning than a normal orc.  Yet these showed little signs of logical intelligence.  Faramir frowned deeply as another Uruk-hai was felled by his arrows.  This was too easy.  Glancing to his right, the steward could see Legolas with a frown etched upon his face.  Clearly the Elf was thinking to same thing. 

When the last arrow in his quiver was released, Faramir ducked down behind the wall to restock.  From where he crouched, Faramir could see movement further down the wall out of the corner of his eye.  He spared a glance in that direction.  He and Legolas had situated themselves close to the edge of the defenses.  No soldiers had situated themselves so far down the wall and he had not seen or sensed anyone move past him in that direction.  Yet he saw a group of ten men bearing the White Tree upon their armor climbing down from the wall well away from the skirmish.  One of the men glanced back at the defenses, as if checking to make sure no one was looking.  Faramir caught a glance of his face, though he could not make out any details from such a distance, and a wave of cold fear swept through him.  

Faramir clutched his chest with one hand as his heart constricted painfully.  Something about that man was not right.  The steward could feel his entire body tremble, though whether it was from fear or cold, he could not tell.  He closed his eyes and could feel his highly attuned senses screaming like they had not done since the Nazgûl swept down upon him during the War of the Ring.  After a moment, his mind quieted and he could feel his muscles begin to relax.  Opening his eyes, Faramir noticed that all of the men he spotted had vanished from sight.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Faramir grabbed a spare quiver and prepared to rejoin the defenses.  His body paused and a blast of icy cold grabbed his heart as Legolas' words from their journey suddenly reverberated within his mind.

_"In some of my dreams, I see the __White__City__ being attacked by an army cloaked in shadow.  It is strange, though.  The attack does little to damage the __Tower__ of __Ecthelion__.  The building that seems to take the most damage is the House of Stewards."_

It was as if a dam had been released within his thoughts as answers suddenly flooded his mind.  Legolas' vision of an attack, Boromir's warning; it was all connected and made perfect sense.  Unsheathing his sword, Faramir dashed away from the fray to the stairs that led back into the city.  He could vaguely hear Legolas call out to him as he raced in the direction of the fourth level.  A flash of gold beside him caught his eye and Faramir turned to see Legolas running alongside him.  Behind them, he could hear the heavy footsteps of a Dwarf trying to catch up.

"Faramir, what is happening?" The Elf said as they ran.

Faramir kept his eyes ahead as he led the way through the streets. "It all makes sense now, Legolas.  Your dreams, my dreams, they both connect.  I finally understand what Boromir was trying to tell me.  They must not find what was left behind."

If Legolas was confused by the steward's words, he did not show it.  His face remained a mask of neutrality as he silently followed Faramir's lead.

"Where do the two of you think you are going?" Gimli demanded from behind them. "There is still a battle to be won atop the ramparts!"

Faramir spared a glance behind him as he answered. "I fear that the true battle is not atop the ramparts and we may already be too late to win it, Gimli.  We must make haste to the House of Stewards!"

*          *          * 

The journey to the Silent Street on the fourth level passed quickly.  All citizens had been ordered to remain in their homes until word came of the battle's end, so the three warriors had nothing to hamper their flight to the House of Stewards.  Faramir paid little attention to the deserted streets around them, his mind focused only on fulfilling his promise to Boromir's spirit.  Beside him, Legolas said nothing.  The Elf prince had checked his speed so that he did not run ahead of Faramir.  The steward seemed to understand the situation much better than he did, so he was content to follow the Man's lead.  Several meters behind them, Gimli puffed along, calling on the stamina he had gained while tracking Merry and Pippin across northern Rohan.  The Dwarf kept all snide remarks about the unnatural swiftness of Men and Elves to himself, knowing that they would not be welcome in such a grave situation.  He honestly had no idea where those two were heading, but had learned long ago to trust Faramir's intuition and Legolas' keen senses.  

Their footsteps echoed around them, the only sound present on the Silent Street, though Faramir did not check his pace out of respect for the dead as he usually did.  Fear clung to his heart at the thought of what he might find, or more likely what he would not find, if they did not reach the resting halls of the line of stewards.  The solemn house of stone appeared before them and the three companions suddenly halted.  Standing before the open doors to the House of Stewards were nine Men bearing the White Tree upon their breasts.  

Faramir was about to demand an explanation when several of the men turned to look him directly in the eye.  Ice seemed to course through his veins, freezing him from the inside out.  The sheer magnitude of evil that radiated from these Men was enough to almost make the Prince of Ithilien pass out.  He saw Legolas out of the corner of his eye.  The Elf's eyes widened and his face was growing paler.  Faramir could feel the darkness surround him and numb his body as he stared into their eyes…

…Their blood red eyes.

The suffocating darkness surrounding the Men did not seem to faze Gimli as the Dwarf suddenly leapt upon them with a roaring battle cry.  All nine Men scattered, trying to dodge the axe that swung in every direction.  The loss of eye contact shattered the ice running through Faramir's blood and the steward quickly raised his sword and joined in the battle.  Legolas too seemed to have recovered from his shock as he too took up his knives.  

Metal crashed upon metal as Faramir and his friends battled three to one.  Their enemies were definitely well trained with their weapons, for no hits could be gained on either side.  Faramir could still feel the evil radiating from the Men and it chilled his skin beneath his armor, but each stroke of his sword sent shocks of heat through his limbs.  As they battled on, Faramir noticed that he was being pushed away from Legolas and Gimli.  Try as he might, he could not seem to push back his opponents.  He parried, dodged, and jabbed, hoping to find an opening in their defenses, but their swords were like lightning that struck against his every advance.  Over the sounds of the melee, Faramir heard Legolas cry out as the Elf dodged past his attackers.  Beyond his opponents, the steward suddenly noticed what Legolas had.  

A tenth Man had run out of the House of Stewards with a loaded sack slung over his shoulder.  

Faramir tried to get past his opponents to stop the fleeing Man, but found no escape.  He battled on desperately.  He could not let that Man escape.  He had promised to Boromir that they would not find what was left behind.  The Steward of Gondor was so focused on trying to escape that he never noticed the soldier that came up from behind and he was helpless to do anything as a sword hilt smashed against the back of his head.

*          *          *

Meanwhile, Legolas was racing west down the Silent Street after the fleeing Man.  Although he regretted leaving Gimli and Faramir behind with the other nine Men, he was confident in their skills as warriors.  He was sure that they could last while he brought down this rouge who sought to desecrate the sacred resting place of the stewards.  His elven speed and reflexes had easily allowed him to outdistance other Men before and it Legolas knew that this villain could not stay ahead of him for very long, even with a head start.  And yet it occurred to the Elf that he had gained little distance between the two of them since the beginning of the chase.  Even with his elven speed, the Man was still moving as fast, or faster, as him.  Legolas frowned.  No Man could ever outrun an Elf for so long.  

Up ahead, Legolas spotted a curve in the street and smiled.  He remembered this curve well from previous visits.  The street was designed so that it wound north around a several buildings before heading due west again.  A normal person would simply follow the street around, and this rouge was no exception as he turned the corner.  Allowing himself a brief smirk at his own cleverness, Legolas ignored the curve and ran straight ahead.  With a powerful jump, conditioned by several millennia of leaping through the beeches of Mirkwood, the Elf prince landed on the low roof of a shop and ran straight ahead.  As he neared the edge of the roof, he could see his target finishing his run around the corner.  

The Man barely had the chance to look up before Legolas pulled him to the ground with a mighty flying tackle.  

When he felt no movement beneath him, Legolas loosened his grip on the felled enemy.  Blood pouring from a gash on the Man's temple and the bruises around his face clearly showed that he was unconscious.  Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he had been able to stop the villain from stealing whatever was in his sack.  The Elf grabbed the sack which had fallen a short ways away, curious as to what exactly this Man's quarry was.  

When he saw what was inside, Legolas' face fell.  Turning his face to the heavens he shouted a curse to the Valar. 

*          *          *      

Aragorn frowned as he watched the ongoing battle from the ramparts.  Something was not right about this attack.  The army of Uruk-hai was not very large, perhaps three hundred or so, but not large enough to take Minas Tirith by force.  The soldiers of Gondor were shooting the foul creatures down with relative ease.  Those few that had managed to scale the walls without being felled by arrows were swiftly cut down by swords.  What worried Aragorn was the fact that none of the Uruk-hai carried a projectile weapon.  The king could spot no bows anywhere among the attackers.

_It is all too easy_. Aragorn thought to himself. _The Uruk-hai are far too intelligent to attack a heavily fortified city without some weapon for killing guards atop the wall.  There are only two plausible solutions to this riddle, then.  Either there is another, more powerful force on the way here or this siege is merely a distraction from their true purpose.  Faramir must have realized this as well, for I can think of no other reason why he would leave in the middle of the battle.  The same goes for Gimli and Legolas.  I know they would never do anything as cowardly as running from a simple skirmish.  I wonder if perhaps Faramir knew of their real target when he ran off._

The answer suddenly hit Aragorn like a tidal wave.  He recalled Legolas' vision of the House of Stewards being plundered. _Of course!  Their true target may be the House of Stewards.  That must have been where Faramir headed.  I only hope that they reach it before the Uruk-hai find whatever they came for.  Legolas was right.  There must be something of value hidden away in those halls that our enemies know of but we do not. _

At that moment, the harsh cry of a battle horn echoed across the Pelennor.  Aragorn's frown deepened, for he knew that horn command well from past battles.  It was a signal to retreat.  What remained of the siege force suddenly turned around and ran with all speed in the direction they had come from.  The soldiers upon the ramparts let out a mighty cheer and began to yell taunting insults at the retreating foes, shooting down any stragglers.  The only one who was not celebrating atop the wall was the King of Gondor.  For the Uruk-hai to retreat so suddenly could only mean one thing; the battle was merely a diversion and they had gotten what they had come for.

Aragorn called out to six men to follow him and immediately headed in the direction of the fourth level.  _I only hope that Legolas, Gimli, and Faramir are all right._

*          *          *   

The site that met the King of Gondor when he finally reached the House of Stewards was not at all what he had expected.  He had prepared himself for the worst as he ran to his destination with a squadron of his best soldiers.  When he arrived at the House of Stewards, Aragorn had expected to find blood splattered about the Silent Street and the bodies of the slain intruders, and perhaps the bodies of his friends as well, lying in the center of a great battle zone.  What he found confused him greatly.  There was no blood and no bodies.  In fact, the Silent Street looked as pristine as it had been for many years.  The only evidence that any sort of confrontation had taken place came in the form of Gimli helping a dazed Faramir to sit up.  

Gimli looked up as Aragorn approached. "Faramir took a fair knock on the head, Aragorn, but he will live."

"And you, my friend?" The king questioned the Dwarf. 

Gimli shook his head and began to stroke his beard. "A few knocks, but I am otherwise unharmed.  It's that blasted Elf that I am worried about right now.  He took off down the street after one of our enemies snuck away during the middle of the battle.  That was nearly twenty minutes ago."

Aragorn frowned. "I have witnessed Legolas' capabilities in battle on many occasions, so I see no reason to worry about him.  What concerns me now is what happened to the both of you."

"Faramir ran off during the siege on the wall.  Legolas and I went after him, for he seemed very agitated about something.  All he would tell us was that the House of Stewards was in danger; something about not letting them get what was left behind.  Though what that means makes little rational sense to me.  We arrived here and immediately became engaged in battle with several Men dressed in the armor of your own soldiers.  I believe there were nine of them, if my eyes were correct," He shot Aragorn a scathing look, silencing any comments. "And my eyes have always been correct.  During the battle, another emerged from the House with a sack over his shoulder and the Elf went after him.  After that, our attackers began to fight more fiercely.  There are few who are quick enough to avoid any blows from my axe, but somehow these Men were able to.  The steward and I were separated and I was almost overwhelmed.  It was then that I heard an orc horn sounding a retreat.  Our enemies immediately ran off, and I must say that I have never seen Men move so swiftly.  I was about to pursue them when I saw that Faramir had fallen and no Dwarf would ever leave a fallen comrade alone.  He woke up just as you appeared."

"So they got away," The king frowned again, staring off in the direction of the main wall.

"Forgive me, my liege," Faramir whispered from where he sat propped up against Gimli's shoulder. "I could not stop them."

Aragorn shook his head. "No, Faramir.  There was nothing to forgive.  Gimli says that you were overwhelmed nine to two.  The fact that your only injury is a bump on the head is a miracle in itself.  I would hate to be the one to tell Éowyn that her husband had been run through before knowing his first child."

Faramir managed a weak smile. "I only hope that Legolas has been more successful than Gimli and me."

"Alas, for I have not been successful at all," Legolas came walking up with the confiscated sack slung over one shoulder.  His steps seemed heavier than usual and he carried himself in a subdued manner.

Aragorn was immediately at his old friend's side. "Did you catch him? Are you unharmed?"

"I am unharmed," The Elf prince sighed. "And I was able to catch the Man I pursued.  However, I failed to keep him in my custody for very long.  I had thought he was unconscious, but he woke up the moment I heard the orc horn.  I was not looking at him when it happened, but he appeared to have vanished into thin air."

"Yet you have recovered that which the villain stole," Gimli pointed at the sack.

Legolas simply closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, I did not."

The Elf sighed almost imperceptibly as he opened the sack and dumped its contents onto the street.  Aragorn raised an eyebrow in confusion, Faramir hung his head in shame and defeat, and Gimli scratched his beard thoughtfully.

"Rocks," the Dwarf shifted through the stones on the street with the handle of his axe. "And not very interesting rocks at that.  Were these bejeweled or held some sort of carving, then I could understand why they would be stolen.  But these here are just broken shards and I can see a few cobblestones among them.  They are hardly good for anything all broken up like that.  Now I know rocks, and there is absolutely nothing significant about the ones before me.  I can not see why they would be desired by our enemies."

"They were not after stones, Gimli," Faramir sighed deeply. "These were just a decoy to lead us away from their true target."

Aragorn frowned as he helped Faramir back onto his feet. "You know what their target was, then?"

Pulling away from his king, Faramir slowly made his way inside the House of Stewards, his steps uneasy as he battled with a pounding headache.  The others followed behind him at a respectable distance, not sure where the steward was heading.  Faramir finally stopped before the tombs of his father and brother and fell to his knees with a strangled cry of grief.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli immediately went to the distraught steward's side and looked in horror upon the sight before them.  One of the tombs had been smashed open by some unknown force.  Dust and debris were scattered across the floor.  Four heads bowed in sorrow when they looked into shattered tomb.

The remains of Boromir, son of Denethor, captain of the White Tower, and member of the Fellowship of the Ring were gone.     

**A/N: **An extra special thanks to Sinead for looking over this chapter and pointing out all of my mistakes.  She has also threatened to kill me if I don't get chapter 5 written immediately, so that'll be out a lot faster than this chapter.

Ok, everyone, it's time for a little reader response.  I have some plans for Faramir and Éowyn's first child that will be used in the final chapter.  However, I have a slight dilemma.  I have no idea what gender the child will be.  A boy would make the most sense, but a girl could also work very well.  What do all of you think?  Should their first child be a son or a daughter? (And no, I'm not going to have Éowyn bear twins.)     


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes: **Of all the chapters I've written so far, this one has to be my favorite.  It's all because I discovered just how much fun it is to write dialogue for Treebeard.  He's quickly moving up my list of favorite characters.  I'm especially proud of a nice one-liner that Pippin says that just randomly popped into my head while I was brainstorming.  For all of you Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Faramir lovers, you'll have to wait until the next chapter to see what they're up to.

**Chapter 5**

_Now this is a memorable predicament,_ Merry silently mused.  _Four years ago, Pippin and I were sitting on this exact same table while Treebeard lay down on that massive bed and we all spoke of Isengard.  Only this time, I have absolutely no idea what is going on.  During the war, at least Pippin and I knew that Saruman was operating on his own agenda and we knew that Isengard was unsafe for anyone.  Now, though, we don't know if Isengard is safe or not.  I only hope that Treebeard's explanation will not take several weeks.  I really want to get to Edoras and talk to King Éomer about the attack._

Treebeard shifted his roots about on the bed, making himself as comfortable as possible.  He could see that the Hobbits were anxious to learn the details of what was happening within Saruman's old fortress, but he was determined to teach those little halflings patience even if it took an Age.  Only when he was completely satisfied with his own comfort did the ancient Ent begin to speak. 

"My story begins a mere month ago, little Hobbits, on a night when no moon was present.  The world seems so dark when there is no moon.  Yet even then, the stars still light the way. Yet this night was different.  The stars, so wondrous in their splendor, seemed dull.  The stars are only dull every few millennia.  When that happens, it is not a good sign.  The last time they dulled, the first Dark Lord launched his most deadly assault upon the Elves of the First Age.  When we saw that the stars were dull, we Ents that guarded Isengard knew that something was amiss.  We went into a conference to decide why they had dulled."__

"An Entmoot?" Pippin asked.

"No wonder they were caught off guard," Merry grumbled under his breath.

Treebeard, not having heard Merry's comment, turned to Pippin. "Oh no, Master Pippin.  This was not an Entmoot.  Surely you know that an Entmoot is only called for catastrophic reasons.  The dulling of the stars is not catastrophic.  It simply means that something catastrophic is about to occur.  When the catastrophe that the dulled stars foretold comes to pass, then an Entmoot will occur."

Merry shook his head. "So what was the point of a conference if you know that a catastrophe was coming?  Were you trying to prevent it?"

"Prevent it?" Treebeard was taken aback. "Master Merry, prevention is the work of the hasty.  Hastily thrown together plans, doomed to fail.  The best way to deal with a problem is to let it occur and then solve it."

"But then the damage is already done!  Civilization as we know it could be wiped out before you decide to solve the problem."

"That is the way we Ents live, Master Merry.  It is the very purpose that we were first created for.  We endure and then we rebuild.  That is how we solved the problems caused by Saruman.  He destroyed the forest and we destroyed his fortress of rock and stone."

Pippin quickly interjected. "But in doing so, you also prevented Saruman from wiping out Aragorn and the Rohirrim.  If they had been destroyed, all of Gondor would have been destroyed and Sauron would have taken over all of Middle Earth.  So, while you solved Fangorn's problem with Saruman, you also prevented Sauron from destroying everything."

"A regretful thing indeed, Master Pippin, caused by our own hastiness to go to war.  Now do you understand why we Ents dislike being hasty?"

Pippin was utterly confused. "Um…not really, no."

"Very well then, little Hobbit.  I shall explain."

"No, you will not explain, Treebeard!" Merry suddenly shouted. "The only thing that you are going to explain is what happened at Isengard."

"So hasty, Master Merry.  So hasty for an explanation that you would disrupt your own companion from learning.  If you will wait but a moment, I will finish my tale.  For now, young Pippin-"

"No no!  It's all right, Treebeard," Pippin interrupted. "Please finish your tale of what happened at Isengard.  You can explain Ent hastiness to me later."

Treebeard '_hrroomed' in disbelief. "It is amazing how such hasty creatures have survived for so long.  But very well.  I shall continue.  The stars were dull and so we Ents went into conference to deduce what catastrophe would strike.  There were many different ideas.  For example, Quickbeam believed that-"_

"That's all right," Merry interrupted once more. "You do not have to tell us what everyone believed.  Just tell us what happened after the conference."

"You interrupt my explanation to Pippin and now you wish for me to skip important moments in history.  Is there no end to you hastiness, Master Merry?"

Pippin snickered quietly. "Hasty-adoc Brandybuck."

The glare that Merry sent across the table to his cousin promised painful retribution when the situation was not so dire.  He then turned back to Treebeard. "I'm very sorry for acting so hasty, Treebeard.  It's just that, if you went through every detail, I'm sure that we would be late for our scheduled arrival in Edoras in two days."

"Schedules are the very epitome of hastiness," Treebeard boomed. "However, I shall indulge you just this once.  All of the Ents gathered together to decide why the stars had dulled," He paused a moment.  When Merry did not speak up, he continued. "As we debated, a dark shadow passed over us.  It may be difficult to tell if a shadow is dark when there is no moon and the stars are dull.  Such a dark atmosphere makes seeing something darker almost impossible.  I recall a similar night when I was watching crows fly and-"

"Treebeard!" The hobbits shouted in unison.

"Hastiness! _Hoom__ hrroom! I merely thought to give you a basis for comparison. Clearly my efforts are unappreciated by the hasty little Hobbits.  So be it! A dark shadow like a storm cloud passed over us.  At first, we indeed thought it to be a storm cloud.  But then the cloud sped up and funneled down until it landed on the very peak of Orthanc.  Naturally, we would have prevented anything from reaching Saruman's tower, but no Ent is tall enough to reach its peak."_

"And all of you are too big to go through the front door and walk up the stairs," Pippin pointed out.

"Precisely, Master Pippin," Treebeard nodded. "Saruman did not consider the Ents when he built his stone fortress.  After the shadow landed, we were ever vigilant for signs that something had entered Orthanc once more.  Quickbeam thought that Saruman's spirit had escaped from Mandos and was trying to regain Isengard.  There has been many a time when I have wondered if that Ent-ling was truly a full blooded Ent.  I must ask him if the Ent or Ent-wife he sprouted from was an evergreen.  Noble trees they are, but all of that sap muddles their mind and they begin to speak nonsense."

"So was there anything inside the tower after that?" Merry asked, hoping to deter the ancient being from going off on yet another tangent.

Treebeard diverted his thoughts back to Isengard. "For a fortnight or so, there was nothing.  All was silent within Isengard.  Then, one day, fire suddenly erupted from within the cavern's rocks.  Men spilled out through the doors of Orthanc, brandishing torches while orcs with axes climbed out of the pits.  Fire spouted forth from the ground, burning two beeches.  Everything happened so quickly that we could not retaliate.  The only thing that any of us could do was retreat and regroup.  And so we were forced to abandon our post at Isengard.  We were pursued to the edge of Fangorn.  When we turned back toward Isengard, we saw our gardens burned to ashes.  All of our work wasted in the blink of an eye.  Many of the other Ents were injured and three were even killed."  

Merry hung his head.  "I'm so sorry, Treebeard.  I should never have doubted you.  There was nothing that you or any of the other Ents could have done against that kind of attack.  And now there are even less Ents in Middle Earth."

"So what is happening in Isengard now?" Pippin asked as he reached across the table and  placed a supportive hand on Merry's shoulder. "Do you know who's behind all of this?"

"Regretfully, we do not," Treebeard replied. "Orcs guard the newly built gates.  Every day we see them entering Isengard with Men bearing covered litters and bulging sacks.  And every day we see more and more Men leaving those gates; Men like the one that pursued you."

Frowning, Merry thought back to the pure evil he felt emanate from Gárulf. "You mean Men who are pure evil?"

"Indeed I do, Master Merry.  They appear to be multiplying faster than it is possible.  It is as if they are appearing from the very air."

Pippin thought for a moment. "Maybe they are.  Remember what Ranon and Baldor said?  Gárulf was supposed to have died four years ago.  We were all so happy to see him alive that we didn't bother to think his story through clearly.  When you think about it, his story really does not make any logical sense.  Even if he was supposedly alive when they buried him, there was no way that a mortally wounded Man could unbury himself without aid."

"He wasn't a Man, Pippin," Merry frowned. "He may have looked like a Man, but he definitely did not feel like one.  I have never been around any Man who's presence froze me from the inside out.  Only the Witch King has ever made me feel like that."

"And yet I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary," The younger Hobbit paused before continuing in a more somber tone of voice. "At least I didn't until he killed Ranon and Baldor so ruthlessly.  He was supposed to be their friend, and yet he murdered them in cold blood."

The two Hobbits embraced each other in mutual comfort.  Treebeard regarded them solemnly for a moment before speaking again. "I have seen such cruel acts performed many a time since the dark Men began to leave the gates of Isengard.  We Ents tried to retaliate, but a wall of fire surges up from the bowels of the earth and surrounds the perimeter whenever we get to near.  Only the orcs and the dark Men may pass through the flames unscathed.  All that we can do is stop the ones who come too close to the forest.  And yet even that is difficult.  These Men have the speed and strength of the Firstborn. They are difficult to catch unaware.  The one that I killed earlier could have easily dodged me if he was not so focused on the two of you."

For a moment, no one spoke.  The hobbits bowed their heads, silently mourning the passing of the two Rohirrim that they had come to see as friends.  Treebeard, meanwhile, continued to ponder the mysteries surrounding the newly rebuilt Isengard at the typical Ent speed.  He was contemplating the origins of fire when Merry and Pippin lifted their heads.  A look of mutual agreement passed between them and the two Hobbits turned to look at Treebeard.  It was Merry who spoke.

"Treebeard, get up.  Take us to Isengard."

*          *          * 

Treebeard stopped at the edge of Fangorn Forest.  From their perches among the Ent's branches, Merry and Pippin sat transfixed at the horrific sight before them.  At the base of the rolling hill (still recovering from the massive destruction of four years ago) lay Isengard re-forged.  The last time they had seen the former stronghold of Saruman, the Ents had turned the entire area into a garden worthy of being called paradise.  Wildflowers in every color of the rainbow were spread across the fresh grass as far as the eye could see.  The broken stones that marked where the walls had once stood were entwined by luscious vines.  The Ents had taken trees from their forest and replanted them along the edges of the caverns, now small lakes from the great flooding.  Even the tower itself was far cheerier when surrounded by life.  Birds had already begun to nest among the green leaves of the trees while rabbits and squirrels leapt between the roots.  Pippin swore that he had even caught a glimpse of a fox and a deer when they last visited.

But all of that was gone now.  Even the tiniest sign of life from the Ent paradise had been ripped away with heart wrenching cruelty.  Every tree had been uprooted.  Every flower and blade of grass was burned away.  The vibrant colors of the garden were gone, replaced with blackened ash against a sea of mud.   The luscious vines had vanished, replaced by cold grey stone once more.  Merry shuddered as he gazed upon the rebuilt walls surrounding Isengard.  They were even higher now and were dotted with massive serrated spikes of black iron.  Cruel guard towers were being constructed by a handful of Men.  Even the tower of Orthanc itself was more menacing than before with cruel iron bars, like a thousand spear points, jutting out toward the sky from base to tip.   

"How could anyone build this much in only one month?" Pippin wondered out loud. "I can only see a few Men working on one of the towers and the handful of Orcs around are patrolling the wall."

"It is because of the Men," said a familiar voice from behind them.

Merry and Pippin quickly turned and were relieved to see a familiar Ent shuffling closer.  

Merry smiled. "Hullo, Quickbeam." 

The young Ent _hroom-ed in greeting. "Welcome back, Masters Merry and Pippin.  I only wish that our reunion could be under happier circumstances.  As I was saying, the Men are the cause of the hasty rebuilding.  They are swift and strong like the Firstborn.  They seek neither nourishment nor rest.  They simply toil night and day on that wretched wall.  Not even the Orcs can endure that long."_

Merry turned his attention back to the Men chiseling away on the rapidly forming watch tower.  A cold shiver, like a winter's breeze crept up his spine while a leaden ball of fear settled in his stomach.  He passed a hand over his brow, brushing away beads of sweat.  Deep within him, a sense of dread began to trickle forward.

"Merry?" Pippin whispered, seeing his cousin's face grow paler. "What's wrong, Merry?  Are you ill?"

The elder Hobbit quickly shook his head.  "No, Pip.  I'm not ill.  It's just something about those Men.  I just looked at them and I felt cold and shaky.  It's like when I saw Gárulf's eyes, only not nearly as bad."

"The curse of evil Men," Treebeard stated firmly.

"What?" Both Merry and Pippin cocked their heads in confusion.

Quickbeam replied before Treebeard had an opportunity to explain. "What he means to say is that those Men up there are the same as the one who attacked you before.  They are the very essence of evil.  Those who are sensitive to darkness, such as Ents and the Firstborn, can feel the corruption of their twisted souls."

"But why would Merry be sensitive to it and not me?" Pippin asked.

"And how did you know about the attack?" Merry cocked his eyebrow at Quickbeam.

The Ent was unfazed by their sudden demanding questions. "As I said, we Ents are sensitive to darkness; all of the trees in this forest are after the damage Saruman did.  The entire forest could sense the presence of an evil Man and felt his desire to kill both of you.  As for why Master Merry is more sensitive than you, Master Pippin, I honestly do not know.  Perhaps he was born with it, or perhaps some experience in his life has heightened his senses.  It is difficult to tell."

"So I'm not simply loosing my mind?" Merry gave a mirthless chuckle.

Quickbeam hoom-ed in confusion. "I do not see how you could 'lose your mind', Master Merry.  Is it not secure within your head?"

Merry rolled his eyes but decided not to say anything.  Quickbeam might not understand many expressions in Westron, but at least the young Ent could keep his mind on track.

"_Hroom.  I must contemplate this concept of loosing one's mind," Treebeard rumbled._

_Unlike certain Ents,_ Merry groaned inwardly.

Meanwhile, Pippin's eyes caught sight of something moving beyond the horizon. "Merry, Treebeard, Quickbeam, something is coming this way.  It looks like riders, though their horses are moving oddly.  They're too far away to tell for sure."

Merry squinted his eyes as he tried to distinguish the moving figures under the moonlight coming toward Isengard. "Where's Legolas when you need him," Merry grumbled.  

"You are right, Master Pippin," Treebeard stated as the figures came closer to the rebuilt fortress. "Those are not horses that they are riding upon."

The still night air was suddenly pierced by the unearthly baying of one of the most evil creatures in Middle Earth.

Quickbeam's branches quivered. "Wargs!"

"And where there's wargs, there's Orcs," Merry sneered as he reached for his sword.

Treebeard raised one mighty arm to still the Hobbit. "Must you be so hasty, Master Merry?  There is little we can do.  Now that they are closer to this hill, you can see that there are many more of them than there are of us.  We would not stand a chance against their numbers."

"Perhaps not," Quickbeam called as he pointed to more spots appearing behind the approaching warg riders. "Look there, for they are being pursued!"

The Hobbits followed Quickbeam's knobby fingers with their eyes.  Sure enough, a second group of riders had appeared.  As they came closer and closer to Isengard, Merry could faintly see a banner being carried by one of the pursuers.  A stray beam of moonlight caught the banner and the Hobbit's eyes widened in relief as he saw a distinctive white shape against deep green cloth.

"The White Horse!" He cried. "They are Riders of Rohan!  We must help them stop those wargs!"

"But what can we do?" Pippin demanded as Merry scrambled through Treebeard's branches and leapt onto Quickbeam. "There's too many for us to handle."

Grim determination spread over Merry's face.  "Then stay, if you wish to.  But I can not.  I am a knight of Rohan and must do anything I can to aid the land I swore allegiance to.  Come on, Quickbeam!  We'll cut the wargs off.  Maybe it will slow them down and buy more time for the Rohirrim."  

Without a word, the smaller Ent charged forward down the hill.  The ground shook beneath his root-like feet.  As they came to the bottom of the hill, the ground began to shake even harder.  Merry glance over his shoulder and half smiled when he saw Treebeard gain on them, Pippin standing atop his highest branches. 

"A knight of Rohan can do little against this enemy on his own!" The Took hollered. "But maybe a knight of Gondor can even the odds a bit!"

With cries of battle rage, the foursome plunged forward, directly into the path of the oncoming enemies.  Wargs scattered sideways in surprise, many knocking the Orcs off their backs.  Treebeard and Quickbeam wasted no time before striking the despicable abominations with long sweeps of their broad arms and legs.  Merry managed to lower himself within Quickbeam's branches and slashed viciously at any wargs who launched themselves upon the Ent.  Atop Treebeard, Pippin was doing the same.  A hail of arrows and the battle cry of the Mark signaled the arrival of the Rohirrim.  The Orcs and wargs, still recovering from the sudden appearance of the two Ents, stood little chance as horses plowed through their ranks.

Merry had just pulled his blade from the throat of a dead warg when one of the Rohirrim caught his eye.  The Man was shouting something, though his voice could not be heard over the skirmish, and gesturing wildly at a spot behind Merry.  The Hobbit looked over his shoulder and was shocked to see a litter bared by two Men, and they were seconds away from reaching the gates of Isengard!  Throwing caution to the wind, Merry leapt down from Quickbeam's branches and raced after the Men.  Cold fear gripped him in its icy fist as he gained on them, but the charging Hobbit pushed it to the back of his mind.  He had a duty to the kingdom of the Rohan and nothing, not the strength of Men or the slower movements of a Hobbit would stand in his way.  Whoever these Men were and whatever they were carrying, Merry had to stop them.  But the legs of Men are far longer than those of a Hobbit and Merry could not stop them from passing through the gates first.  But the headstrong Brandybuck did not give up.  He continued to run after his quarry before the gates could close.

"Master Merry! NO!" Quickbeam shouted.

But the warning came too late.  Fire erupted from the earth, surrounding the stone wall.  Merry tried to pull back, but the momentum from his run pushed him forward.  Pain lanced up his left arm and a cry of agony was ripped from his throat.  He fell back, landing hard upon the ground, and passed out.

"Merry!"

"Master Meriadoc!"

Merry groaned as he came too.  White hot agony blazed up and down his left arm.  Groaning, he curled up around it.  Strong hands pulled him into a sitting position while a smaller pair supported his back.  Wearily, the Hobbit opened his eyes and saw the rider who had signaled to him earlier was at his side and opening up a jar of healing salve.  Pippin was helping to remove what remained of his left shirt sleeve.  

"It's not too bad," Merry hissed through his teeth as the Man began applying the salve over the burns covering his arm. "I'll be alright." 

"You will be alright after you have received proper medical treatment, Master Meriadoc," The rider stated simply as he began to wrap the medicated wounds.

Merry glanced back at the battle, only to find that there was no battle.  The corpses of Orcs and wargs were scattered upon the ground.  The Riders of Rohan were busy treating wounds and piling the corpses for burning.  Merry looked back at the walls, expecting to see the great pillars of flame that he had crashed into, but there were none.  The flames were gone and the stones looked even colder than before.

Pippin could tell what Merry was thinking. "The flames disappeared right after you hit them.  Some of the riders tried to go after the Men as well, but that wall of fire appeared when they got too close and then vanished again when they moved away.  I've never seen anything like it."

"We owe you a debt of gratitude, Master Hobbits," The rider said calmly as he tied off the bandage. "By surprising those Orcs and their fell wolves, we were able to destroy them without serious casualties."

"Elfhelm!" Merry gasped when he suddenly recognized his aide as one of King Éomer's trusted captains. "I'm sorry I did not recognize you at first."         

"You need not apologize, Master Meriadoc, for I shall be the one who will be doing the apologizing to Éomer King when we return.  For while this battle is ours, we have once again failed our true mission.  Once again, the Men of Isengard have carried their quarry through those gates and beyond our reach.  We have failed our king.  I have failed."

"I do not understand," Pippin piped up as he helped Merry to his feet. "What was your mission?"

Elfhelm whistled for another rider and together they hoisted the two hobbits onto their horses before he answered the young Took. "There is too much to tell now, Master Hobbits, but I shall tell you along the way.  We must report this to Éomer King immediately and get Master Meriadoc to a proper healer."

The Hobbits waved good-bye to their Ent friends as the order to ride was sounded.  Treebeard and Quickbeam watched them go as the riders raced back toward Edoras.  When the party was out of sight, the two Ents shuffled back up the hill toward Fangorn.  For it was never wise to linger close to Isengard for long.

Merry braced his injured arm against his chest as he clung to Elfhelm.  The sheer agony had dulled, leaving only a constant throb.  He needed something to take his mind off the pain.

"Elfhelm, will you answer one question for me?"

The captain eased his horse into a steady gallop before nodding his assent to the Hobbit bouncing along behind him.

"What was their quarry?  What were those Men carrying on that litter?"  
Elfhelm sighed deeply. "I had hoped that would not be your first question, Master Meriadoc.  Those Men committed the most heinous of crimes in all of Rohan.  They desecrated a sacred grave.  And now they have the remains of Theoden King."    

**A/N:** Ah, the clues are being laid down.  Will anyone be able to figure out what's going on with these new Men?  Coming up next, we return to Gondor where plans must be made.  

On a little side note, no one's given me any suggestions for the gender of Éowyn and Faramir's baby.  Will it be a boy or girl?  Again, I'm not going to be stereotypical and make Éowyn give birth to twins.  That's just too cruel for the poor woman. 


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

All of Minas Tirith was celebrating as night fell.  The brief skirmish and victory from that afternoon had filled the soldiers and all the citizens with boundless energy.  Every establishment, from high-class taverns to seedy back alley pubs, was serving out free tankards of ale to any that had fought.  Drunken soldiers wobbling precariously atop their stools relived their own experiences on the outer wall, lying profusely on how they had leapt from the battlements to personally chase the enemy away.  Others embellished on how they had killed ten Uruk-hai with a single arrow in order to catch the fancy of any available women.  Laughter, cheers, and songs of victory filled the lower levels of the White City.  Everyone was celebrating.

The only place that remained somber was the Tower of Ecthelion.  

Faramir sat quietly upon the stones of the tower's peak.  His unfocused eyes were turned upward and those who did not pay him any mind would have thought he was merely admiring the stars as they began to shine.  But in truth, all the Steward saw were memories.  His fingers absentmindedly ghosted against the brooch at his neck.

*_FLASHBACK*_

He stared in amazement at the trinket in his hand.  A subtle blend of silver and gold braided together in a shining wreath around a flat disk of obsidian.  The white tree of Gondor was etched into the center, shining brightly amidst the black stone.  With tentative movements, Faramir lightly ran his fingers along the smooth edges before looking up with a small smile.

"Brother, I do not deserve such a refined gift."

Boromir gave him a broad smile and clapped his brother on the back. "But you do, Faramir.  Being promoted to Captain is no small accomplishment.  It is only fitting that the leader of the Ithilien rangers should have a symbol to match his station."

"Perhaps," Faramir looked thoughtfully at the brooch. "But it is much to fancy to wear out in the wild.  It would stand out like beacon amongst the Ithilien wilderness.  And I would hate to lose it in battle or have it caked with blood."

"Then wear it whenever you come home after your glorious victories," Boromir laughed as he took the brooch from his younger brother's hands. "Now come, I wish to see how it looks on you."

Rolling his eyes in mock exasperation, Faramir drew his forest green cloak across his shoulders.  He stood still and submitted to his older brother's will as Boromir carefully fastened the brooch into place.  When Boromir finished, he held his brother at arms length.

"It suits you."

Faramir tried to fight the color that was rising to his cheeks. "I still think that it is too fancy for me to wear."

"It is not.  It simply adds to your image of authority.  Now I expect you to wear this," He held up a hand to stop Faramir's protests. "I know you too well, little brother.  Whenever you are given a gift you are uncomfortable with, you hid it under that loose floorboard beneath your writing desk; and yes, I have gone into your room in our youth and found it.  This brooch is a symbol of our noble bloodline and you should wear it with pride."

"All right, brother.  I yield," Faramir laughed as he raised his hands in defeat. "I shall wear it whenever I come home from Ithilien, if only to please you."

Boromir sighed in exasperation. "Little brother, how many times must I tell you not to base your life around pleasing others?  You must please yourself first."

"I know, Boromir.  I only wish for you and Father to be proud of me."

"I can not speak for Father, but I can speak for myself.  Faramir, you are my brother.  I know what kind of person you are and I can see the man you will be in the future.  No matter who you are, no matter where you go, I will always be proud of you.  You will be just fine."

"Thank you, my brother.  I promise I will never let you down." 

_*END FLASHBACK*_

_I promise I will never let you down._

Faramir clutched the brooch in his fist until his knuckles turned white.  Try as he might, he could not stop the moisture that gathered in his eyes and began to gently trickle down his cheeks.  

"I let him down," He whispered. "I promised him that I would never let him down.  Alas that I could not keep this promise, for I have failed."

Angrily, he ran his free hand over his eyes, banishing the unshed tears. _Boromir, what do you think of your little brother now?  The high and mighty Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, sitting here crying as he hides from the rest of the world.  You said that you would be proud of me, no matter what I do.  And yet even you could not be proud of this childish weakling who is undeserving of being your brother.  How could you be proud of me when I am not even proud of myself?_

He was so wrapped up in his own guilt that Faramir failed to hear the sound of footsteps ascending the tower's stairs.  Nor did he notice the King of Gondor walk through the archway onto the Tower of Ecthelion's peak.

"Faramir?"

The Steward's head shot up in surprise at the voice.  Turning sharply, he saw his king looking directly at him with a surprised look on his face.  Faramir cringed inwardly as he felt his cheeks flush.  It was bad enough that he was crying like a helpless child, but to have his king witness his weakness was mortifying.  At that moment, Faramir wished the ground would swallow him up, or perhaps the wall he was leaning against would suddenly collapse and he could fall to his doom.

Hastily wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Faramir stood up and addressed his king. "Forgive me, Lord Elessar.  I did not hear your approach.  I shall take my leave now."

"Hold Faramir.  I must speak with you."

Faramir stopped and groaned inwardly.  Keeping his back to the king, he replied. "With all due respect, my liege, I would prefer to speak of matters of state at a later time when I am feeling less…emotional.  If it is not urgent, then I will speak to your counselors in a short while.  You need not trouble yourself with finding me."

"There is no need for such titles, Faramir.  We are friends, are we not?"

"We are, Elessar."

A tiny smile graced the king's face.  "That is better," His face turned serious again. "In truth I did not wish to speak of political matters.  I wanted to apologize."

Faramir turned around sharply.  That was the last thing he had expected to hear. "I do not understand.  You have nothing to apologize for."

"But I do.  It is my fault that those thieves desecrated your brother's tomb."

"Elessar…"

"No, Faramir.  Do not try to convince me otherwise.  I am to blame for everything.  The people speak almost reverently of my insight, yet I could not understand the clues that were placed directly before my eyes.  How could I not have understood your brother's warning?  I should have known that the House of Stewards would be vulnerable.  Yet I remained on the walls, directing an assault that hardly needed any leadership to win.  I have failed you, my people, and especially Boromir.  How could I have been so blind?"

"You are not to blame at all," Faramir cut him off. "If there is any to place the blame upon, then it is me.  Your vision was obscure.  It could have meant anything.  I was the one who Boromir spoke to directly.  I was the one told to guard my brother's remains and keep them from falling into enemy hands.  And yet I did not understand until it was too late.  The people value your insight, but that is because you have never failed them.  You were at the front line, directing the defenses as is your role as king.  I am the one who should have been guarding the House of Stewards.  I am the one who failed Boromir in the end."

Both men stared at each other for several long and silent minutes; as if daring the other to contradict their rightful share of the blame.  Aragorn's lips suddenly quirked into a half smile and a chuckle escaped him.  Faramir blinked in confusion.  What could his king and friend possibly find so amusing about this situation?

Aragorn shook his head. "Arwen was right."

"What?" Faramir was even more confused.

"I just remembered something Arwen said to me when I was growing up in Rivendell.  My brothers and I were always getting into trouble when we hunted Orcs and someone almost always came home with a few injuries.  The three of us would all feel so guilty that anyone got hurt and we would sometimes begin to quarrel over who was at fault.  Arwen used to joke about how rangers were obsessed with carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders.  If anything wrong occurred, a ranger would be the first one to claim the fault.  Apparently, she was right.  Here we are, two former rangers, and we are arguing over who is the guiltiest in this whole ordeal."

Faramir could not help but smile at this. "I believe she was right.  Boromir used to always berate me for thinking everything was my fault.  And here I always assumed it was because I did not think highly enough of myself."

"The joys of being a ranger," Aragorn chuckled.

Faramir chuckled as well. "The curse of being a ranger sounds more appropriate."

The king smiled sadly and grasped his steward's shoulder. "If there is one thing I have learned, it is that we can not change the past.  We can only live in the present and look to the future.  Boromir's remains have been taken.  Now we must find a way to bring them back and redeem ourselves."

"Agreed.  Though I must admit that I am exhausted.  Might I suggest that we begin to strategize our next move in the morning?"

Aragorn thought for a moment before a wicked grin spread over his face. "I have a better idea.  All of this blame and guilt has weighed both of us down.  One of the best ways to lose that weight for a short while is to pay a long visit to the wine cellars."

"You are suggesting that we get ourselves drunk?" Faramir raised an eyebrow at his smirking friend. "Then I suggest we do it now before your lovely queen finds us."

The pair was just exiting the tower when they heard the sounds of an argument coming down the hall.  As they moved closer, Aragorn and Faramir noticed that the argument was actually an angered Dwarf berating a certain Elf.

"A plague upon the stiff necks of Elves!  Why must you blame this whole fiasco upon yourself?  How many times must I remind you that none of this was your fault?"

"I should have known that those Men would send out a decoy.  In all my years of experience, I should have foreseen this deception and stayed behind to fight with you.  Instead I ran after a decoy like some novice, barely out of their majority.  I should have know."

"There was no way that you could have known!" Gimli roared. "Those Men were stronger, faster, and far more clever than any of us could have predicted.  We were all fooled!  As such, you can not take any blame.  No one is to blame for this.  I only wish that this logic could penetrate that mithril hard head of yours!"

"But there is blame, Master Gimli," Faramir said as he walked up. "And I am the one who deserves it all."

Aragorn stepped forward. "No, it is my fault."

"I should have understood Boromir's warning."

"I should have been thinking more clearly."

"I should have foreseen this."

"ENOUGH!" Gimli hollered loud enough to silent his three brooding companions.  "A plague upon all of your stiff necks!  It would appear that the Dwarf is the only one who has any common sense left!  Instead of arguing amongst yourselves on who should take the blame, would it not be more prudent to look for clues on the identities of our enemies and then think of a strategy to defeat them?"

"A wise decision, Master Dwarf," Aragorn nodded. "I suggest that we head back to the House of Stewards and search for clues.  Come, our enemies have not defeated us yet."

*          *          *  

Standing before his brother's desecrated tomb, Faramir could not hold back the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him.  Aragorn caught his eye and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder.  The silent comfort helped to calm his nerves.  _It is not your fault.  You had no control over these circumstances.  Stop blaming yourself. _

"Most interesting."

Faramir was shaken from his musings by the Dwarf who was inspecting the empty tomb along with the Elf prince. "What is most interesting, Master Gimli?"

"The lid is shattered, yet no stone has fallen into the tomb.  Surely if it were smashed open, there would be pieces within."

"Perhaps our enemies simply removed the lid and it shattered when hitting the ground," Aragorn suggested.

The Dwarf shook his head. "Nay.  These stones are strong and would not shatter as they have from hitting the ground.  Even then, the rubble would only be where it fell, not scattered about like this.  It is almost as though it was smashed open from the inside."

Aragorn sighed. "And so we are faced with more riddles."

"Or perhaps this riddle holds no significance at all," Legolas muttered. "I do not see how deducing the reason for the tomb being smashed will yield any clues on the identity of our enemies."

Faramir spoke up. "I must say that I agree with Legolas.  I do not believe that this investigation of the tomb and the way the rocks have settled will get us anywhere.  We are still in the dark."

"What we need here is some good, old-fashion, Dwarf logic," Gimli muttered thoughtfully.

Legolas shot the Dwarf a mocking glance. "What, find a hole and dig?"

Gimli glared at his Elven friend and was about to snarl a scathing remark when Aragorn stepped between them. "What we need right now is a plan.  We must find out who our enemies are, what they are planning, and how we can defeat them."

"Our enemies are strong and fast, much more than any of us thought possible," Gimli suggested.

"And they were not Men," Faramir added.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "How so?  I was under the assumption that they were Men."

Faramir shook his head. "You did not face them directly as I did, Elessar.  You did not feel the evil that radiated off of them, so cold and consuming.  You did not see their burning eyes that pierced my very soul."

"What madness do you speak of?" Gimli asked. "I was there and felt no such thing."

"You were too focused on the battle to notice, Master Dwarf; not that I would expect one of your kind to ever be so in tune with their surroundings," Legolas quipped before turning serious. "I saw no red eyes as Faramir did, but I could feel their evil as well.  I have not felt so dark a presence since we trod through the Paths of the Dead.  These Men were not simply strong and fast.  Their power was fueled by some form of ancient evil."

"Could Sauron have survived?" Faramir shuddered.

Aragorn immediately shook his head. "No.  The Dark Lord's life force was bound to The One Ring.  He was destroyed when it was cast into the flames with Gollum.  There was no way for him to have survived."

"But what of his minions?" Gimli pondered out loud. "Were they bound to Sauron as he was bound to the ring?"  
"That I can not answer, Gimli," The king sighed. "for I do not know."

"Then we will have to find out," Faramir resolutely turned away from the rubble. "And I believe we all know where to start looking."

Aragorn nodded in understanding. "Isengard.  Boromir must have been trying to tell us that this evil comes from there. However, we can not go there just yet.  I sent a messenger to Rohan several days ago to ask for any news of Isengard.  I would rather wait and hear from Éomer before charging blindly into a situation we know nothing about."

"But we are wasting valuable time by being cautious!" Gimli growled. "At the speed those Men were moving, they could be half-way to Isengard by now!"

"We have no choice!" Aragorn snapped, but any further words were cut off when a soldier bearing the armor of the Rohirrim entered the House of Stewards.

"My lords, I bring word from Éomer King," The soldier bowed and held out a sealed piece of parchment. 

Deliberately ignoring Gimli's smirk, Aragorn took the message and began to read. As he neared the end, the king frowned deeply.  The others looked on with curiosity, wondering what troubling news Éomer had sent.  With a sigh, Aragorn lowered the paper and turned to the others. 

"It would seem that we are right.  Éomer reports disturbing activities within Isengard.  The Ents have been driven away and the walls have been rebuilt.  Orcs and Uruk-hai have begun to appear and they plunder tombs and grave sites throughout Rohan, removing bodies," He paused at the looks of horrified disgust from his companions. "Men in league with the Orcs have slipped past the Rohirrim guards.  These Men are like nothing they have ever seen before.  They are strong, fast, and stealthy; like nothing they have ever seen before.  These Men aid the dark forces in desecrating the tombs.  Two days ago, the tombs of the Rohirrim kings were raided.  Théoden's remains have been stolen."

"I do not think I can stand for any more ill news," Gimli sighed.

Faramir nodded. "Agreed, Master Gimli.  Is there nothing in that letter that is not laden with sorrow?"

"Actually, there is.  Though Éomer's riders were not able to recover Théoden's body, they did meet up with two Hobbits."

"Merry and Pippin?" Legolas questioned. "I knew that their annual visits were approaching.  However, it seems unlikely that they met up with the riders by chance."

"Indeed it was not," Aragorn agreed. "Apparently their escort was killed by one of the Dark Men from Isengard.  They met up with the Ents in Fangorn and were observing the changes at Isengard when they met up with the riders who were pursuing the grave robbers."

"I assume that there is more?" Faramir gestured to the letter in his king's hand.

"Yes.  Éomer believes that the situation at Isengard has become too volatile.  He has requested that a council of war be held.  What do you think, Faramir?"

The steward nodded. "Agreed.  We should hold this council somewhere between Rohan and Gondor.  That way no one has to wait for the other.  By your leave, king Elessar, I propose that this council be held at my estate in Ithilien."

"A wise decision, Lord Steward," The king nodded and turned to the Rohirrim who was still waiting. "Send word to your king that we shall meet in Ithilien."

The soldier bowed again and hurried off to mount his horse.  When he was gone, Aragorn turned back to Faramir. "We have much to prepare for, Faramir.  And I fear that a true confrontation with these Dark Men will occur all too soon."

"Then let us make the proper arrangements, Elessar.  For it appears that all roads lead to Isengard."

**Author's Notes: **I'm still waiting to hear whether Éowyn and Faramir's baby will be a boy or a girl. Send me your requests!  Perhaps the next chapter will get all of you thinking, seeing as how Éowyn will be back.  Coming up: The Council of Ithilien (man, that's corny).


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**        

If there was one thing Éowyn had learned in all her life, it was this; horses are the perfect distraction.  Since her husband left for Minas Tirith, Éowyn found herself spending more and more time among the majestic beasts in the estate's stables.  Their calm nature helped to ease the White Lady's troubled thoughts.  Éowyn had not stopped thinking about Faramir's dream since that night a week ago.  While the content of the dream, at least what Faramir had told her, had been disturbing, it was the effect on her husband that caused her to worry.  Faramir was a strong man, able to stand in battle against impossible odds without so much as flinching.  It was this strength both inside and outside that had called Éowyn to him in the first place.  His silent strength had kept her sane when waiting in the Halls of Healing while everyone else marched to war.  

Faramir had had nightmares before.  During their first year together, he frequently dreamed of his father and the flames that almost destroyed them both.  He had woken up with a cold sweat, but it was never too severe.  A few soothing words from his beloved wife and a reassuring kiss would lure him back to the present and bring more pleasant visions.  But these dreams were different.  To see his eyes wide with terror, his body shaking as sweat dripped down his pale face; it was as if she was seeing a different man.  If there was something out there that could get Faramir so scared…

"Valar help us all," Éowyn whispered to herself as she set aside the brushes and curry combs.

In the past, she would have mounted up and ridden with the wind to forget her troubles and clear her mind.  Now, however, she had to constantly stop herself from reaching for her saddle.   There was a life within her and she did not want it to be harmed, even if it meant giving up her favorite pastime.  So instead of riding, Éowyn tried to find contentment in grooming her friends.  The monotony of the brush strokes allowed her to sort her thoughts with minimal distraction.  And she had a lot of thoughts to sort out.  Needless to say, the horses in the stables had never looked better. 

"I imagine all of you would look positively gorgeous running across the plains now with your shining coats," The White Lady of Ithilien stroked the mane of the closest horse. "I only wish that I could be out there with you.  And I will in a few months.  And just think, in a few years I will not be riding alone.  My son or daughter will be a horse master like their ancestors before."

The horses seemed to all agree, neighing and pawing the ground.  It was as if they knew that new life was on its way.  Éowyn smiled at their intelligence.  She loved her horses with all of her being, but they could never take the place of her husband.  Even now, she longed to hear word from Faramir.  They had been apart before, but her pregnancy kept him within an hour's ride at all times.  He was always close by, ready in case something went wrong or she needed assistance.  Éowyn had teased him for being so overprotective, but now that he was gone, his fears became hers.  She had lost many hours of sleep, wondering what would happen if something ill befell her or the baby while he was gone.  She had heard of spontaneous abortions and stillbirths if a pregnant woman fell and adamantly refused to go near any stairs.  Many of the servant women had comforted her, reassuring that her fears were very common for first time mothers and that she should not worry so much.  Their words helped, but she still longed for Faramir.

"Tis strange," She whispered to herself. "He has been gone for only a week and I feel helpless.  The White Lady of Ithilien never relied on the strength of Men before.  I have always fended for myself.  How can one unborn child make me so dependant upon a man?  And to make matters worse, this helplessness has me talking to myself!" She smiled knowingly at the horses. "But we will not tell Faramir that."

As she dusted off her skirts, Éowyn stepped outside the stables.  It was beginning to grow dark as she headed for the main house.  She resolved to change into something a bit cleaner before arranging the evening meal.  As she neared house, a sound in the distance caught her attention.  It sounded like horses approaching from the West.  Smiling, Éowyn dashed away from the house to see who was arriving.  Perhaps they were riders from Rohan with word for her brother or perhaps, and she dearly hoped so, it would be Faramir.  As the sound of hooves grew louder, Éowyn could clearly see four riders upon three horses.  Mindful of her distended belly, the White Lady jogged forward to meet them.  

Upon seeing the lone figure coming toward the party, Faramir slowed his horse enough so that he could dismount and catch his wife in his arms.  With great love and tenderness, he embraced her and caught her lips in a blissful kiss.  Neither paid any mind to the three others who dismounted and politely averted their eyes as the couple was reunited.

"Faramir!" Éowyn was practically sobbing with joy. "I have missed you so much.  Please do not leave me alone for so long ever again!"

"I am sorry I had to leave, my dearest, but I am back now.  I have missed you as well."

Wiping her eyes, Éowyn immediately wrapped Legolas in a hug and then embraced Gimli as well. "Legolas, Gimli!  I am so glad you are here.  I have missed the two of you so much!"  Much to everyone's surprise, she then grabbed Aragorn in a passionate embrace and buried her face in his shirt. "My Lord Aragorn!  My heart has wept for the time we have been apart!  I am so happy to see you again!"

The normally composed King of Gondor shot his Steward an uncomfortable look, uncertain how Faramir would react to seeing his wife embracing the man she used to be in love with.  Faramir, however, shook his head with a chuckle.  Over Éowyn's head, he mouthed the words "mood swings".  Aragorn nodded in understanding before gently detaching himself from Éowyn's vice-like grip.  

"I am glad to see you as well, Lady Éowyn," The king gave her a kind smile. "You look wonderful.  Faramir has obviously been taking good care of you."

Éowyn's joyful smile immediately disappeared. "Takes care of me!?  He is hardly here anymore!  I have had to take care of myself this whole time while he was gallivanting off with the rest of the boys.  I should say that he has hardly done anything for me!"  Upon seeing the disappointment on her husband's face, she immediately wrapped her arms around his waist.  "I am sorry, my love.  I did not mean to say that.  You have done a wonderful job taking care of the baby and me.  Forgive my words."

"I could never be angry with you," Faramir smiled. "Now, while we stable the horses, could you instruct the servants to prepare rooms for our guests and a few others that will be arriving soon?"

"Others?"

"Word has been sent to your brother to come here for a council meeting."

"Of course!" 

The thought of seeing her brother again had Éowyn racing back to the house, eager to make preparations.  As she disappeared into the house, Aragorn turned to Faramir with a chuckle.

"Mood swings indeed, my friend."

Faramir laughed. "And to think you will experience the same thing with Arwen."

*          *          *

Faramir sighed in defeat as he sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples.  While he had been gone, his paperwork had piled up to enormous proportions.  Letters from other nobles, trade agreements from other realms, scouting reports from his rangers; it was all too much to look at in one night.  Besides, he could not even get through a single report without having his thoughts wander back to his brother.  Now that his body was gone, would Boromir's soul be in danger as he had said?  If that was true, than what could be done to stop it?  With a growl of frustration, Faramir brushed his arm over his desk, scattering the mountains of paper across the floor. 

"You are brooding again."

Faramir looked up as his wife entered his study. "Can you blame me?"

"Not really," Éowyn came to a halt behind his chair and gently rubbed her hands over his shoulder.  He had told her earlier of the incident in Minas Tirith and Éowyn had been truly shocked to hear of the desecration of Boromir's tomb.  Since then, she had looked for ways to lighten Faramir's mood.

"And yet I can not find the energy to bury myself in petty complaints and obscene proposals."

"Come," Éowyn took her husband's hand and led him out of the study. "If you stay in here, you will only brood.  I have something that will lift your spirits."  

Shaking his head in pleasant disbelief, Faramir allowed his wife to lead him down the hall to a spare bedroom that was in the process of being converted into a nursery.  Faramir could not help but smile at Éowyn's enthusiasm as she opened the door.  Since they had discovered her pregnancy, the Prince and White Lady of Ithilien had been very slow in making the proper arrangements for the baby; mainly because they could not come to an agreement on whether the nursery decor should be primarily Gondorian or Rohirrim.  

"So tell me, Éowyn, what manner of furniture with the markings of Rohan have you snuck in here while I was gone?" Faramir teased.

Éowyn punched him, none to gently, in the arm; a tribute to her strength as a shield maiden. "While I do wish for our child to grow up in the atmosphere as befits one with the bloodline of the Mark, I would never stoop so low as to go behind your back.  If I want Rohirrim furniture for the nursery, than I shall tell you outright."

"Ah, my dearest.  Tis a pity that your straight forward nature is not shared by the counselors back in Minas Tirith."

"But if they did, then you would not appreciate my nature nearly as much.  Now come, for I have a marvelous surprise.  The cradle was delivered yesterday."

"Cradle?" Faramir could not recall reaching an agreement on the cradle's style with Éowyn. "And just who built this cradle?"

Éowyn gave her husband a mischievous smile. "We are both too stubborn, Faramir, and I know that we would never reach an agreement.  So, I figured the best way to solve at least this dilemma was to have someone other than Rohan and Gondor make the cradle."

As Éowyn stepped aside, Faramir was allowed his first look at the cradle in the corner.  What he saw was the most beautiful piece of furniture he had ever lay eyes on.  Beautiful vines of ebony wood had been weaved together to create a magnificent basket large enough for a child to stretch out in.  The wood was woven tightly together along the bottom, leaving no holes for anything to fall out.  Near the top, were tiny holes so that a child could peek out at the world around it. Upon closer inspection, Faramir could see swirls of fine silver scattered all over.  A round mattress of soft linen lined the bottom and deep green blankets with fine gold embroidery were piled on top.  The vines braided downward to form a thick and sturdy base resembling the trunk of a great tree.  Suspended above the cradle was a mobile of wooden stars, horses, and trees crafted with incredible detail.  

"Magnificent," He gasped. "And I must commend you for your commission of the Ithilien Elves for the construction of this fine masterpiece.  You were right, though, asking those not of Gondor or Rohan to build the cradle.  By the time we would have reached a compromise, our child would have a family of their own."  

"Just think," Éowyn pulled Faramir down next to her on a couch.  "In only a few months, we shall have a child to fill that cradle.  Which would you prefer, a boy or a girl?"

"I do not care as long as the child is healthy.  We shall raise him or her with love and gentle guidance." 

"And here I thought I was growing too sentimental," Éowyn teased playfully. "And one day our child will grow into a fine adult."

"And we both know what they will become."

"A warrior," Éowyn said firmly.

"A scholar," Faramir said at the same time.

They both paused and glared at each other.

"Or you could compromise and allow your child to become a healer," Aragorn poked his head through the doorway.  

"And let you corrupt our child with your teachings?  I think not!" Éowyn exclaimed.

Aragorn merely laughed. "Much as I hate to ruin this moment, I have come to request that the evening meal be served soon.  Gimli's stomach is beginning to growl and Legolas is afraid that he might mistake our Dwarven friend for a Warg."

"Very well, I will inform the kitchen staff," Faramir stood and left for the kitchens with Éowyn behind him. 

*          *          *  

The stars shone brightly over the land of Ithilien as Faramir and Éowyn walked toward the stables.  Dinner had been a lively affair with stories and tales of the different realms.  Gimli was like a young child in his excitement as he told of the progress his Dwarves were making with the Glittering Caves of Aglarond while Legolas smiled with pride as he shared stories of his thriving colony in the Ithilien forests.  Even Aragorn managed to keep everyone laughing as he shared stories of pushy ambassadors embarrassing themselves before the entire court and raucous drinking parties, hosted by the royal guards, that he secretly joined in.  Nothing was ever said on the attack or the loss of Boromir's remains, much to Faramir's relief.  It was obvious that everyone intended for this night to be one of laughter and friendship.  The mood would subdued enough when Éomer arrived and their council began.  

Shortly after the meal had ended, the guests had excused themselves and gone their separate ways.  Seizing the opportunity to spend some quality time with his wife, Faramir had led Éowyn outside for a moonlit stroll.  Now that he was back, he did not want to waste a single minute with her.  During their walk, Éowyn told him of the things, or lack thereof, that she had done in his absence.  Faramir was eager to see just how much attention she had lavished upon the horses and began to guide them toward the stables.  As he was about to open the door, Faramir paused.  A cold shiver traveled up his spine and he instantly knew that something was not right.  He turned and saw Legolas a few feet away with his eyes glued to the north.  Ignoring Éowyn's confused look, he walked over to his friend's side.

"You sense it too?"

The Elf nodded. "Darkness approaches.  We had best warn Aragorn and Gimli."

Faramir nodded and moved to guide Éowyn back to the house when Legolas suddenly tackled him to the ground.  A high pitched whoosh sounded just above his head as the Steward hit the grass.  Looking up, he saw a black arrow embedded in the side of the stable door.  

"Too late!" Legolas muttered under his breath as he leapt to his feet, notched his bow, and fired into the darkness.  A moment later, there was a bloodcurdling squeal as his arrow found its mark.  

A very familiar feeling of cold dread descended upon Faramir as he scrambled to his feet and grabbed Éowyn's arm.  They were in danger, and he knew it.  The shrieks of Uruk-hai soldiers could now be heard and they were too close.  He looked toward the house and deemed it too far, so he yanked his wife toward the stables.  Another arrow came sailing past and slammed into the door, causing Éowyn to yelp in surprise.  Out of the corner of his eye, Faramir could see Aragorn and Gimli racing toward them with several guards; no doubt alerted by the shrieks.  Aragorn was waving toward Éowyn and pointing at the barn.  Faramir nodded in understanding and yanked open the stable door.  The others could deal with this threat.  His duty was to protect his wife and child.  Once inside, he barred the door and unsheathed his sword, grateful that he had brought it along.  

"Faramir, what is going on?" Éowyn demanded as she picked up a short knife used for trimming horse manes and tails.  

"It seems that our enemies have followed us here," Faramir grimly replied. "No doubt they know that we are aware of their activities and are trying to stop us before any retaliation is planned."

Within minutes, Faramir could hear the clash of metal against metal.  Silently, he cracked open the door to see how close the enemies were.  To his shock, he saw his king being pushed back by several Uruk-hai.  They were only a stone's throw away from the stables; too close.  Looking back, he saw Éowyn hold the knife in front of her, ready to defend her family at any cost.

"No Éowyn" Faramir hissed. "I know you wish to fight, but this situation is too dangerous."

The White Lady of Ithilien narrowed her eyes and replied in a harsh whisper. "I am a shield maiden of Rohan, Faramir, not some weak courtier.  It is my destiny to fight all who threaten my realm.  You can not stop me."

"No, I cannot," Faramir sighed. "But you must reconsider.  If you were fighting alone, I would not object.  However, there is a life growing within you.  If you fall in battle, it will fall with you.  By the Valar, Éowyn, think of our child!"

Éowyn lowered her blade as realization spread across her face. "You are right.  I can not endanger our child like this.  Yet I can not sit idly by while you and our friends fight for your lives.  I want to help."

Faramir's eyes softened.  He stepped back from the door and gently touched his lips to her brow. "I know, beloved, I know.  Right now, you can help by protecting our child.  Please promise me that you will not fight, for I could not live with myself if either of you are hurt."

"I want to fight," Éowyn whispered. "My blood is that of a warrior.  Yet I will respect your wish.  I too do not want any evil to befall our child.  Just promise me that you will survive this, for I could not live with myself if you fall before seeing our child enter this world."

Holding her close, Faramir whispered into her ear. "I will live."

At that moment, the sound of shattering wood echoed throughout the stables as a serrated blade hacked through.  Horses neighed and reared in fright as blades began to hack away at the thick wooden walls.  Drawing his own sword, Faramir placed himself between Éowyn and the approaching enemies.  As the boards splintered, Faramir could make out the faces of his opponents.  They were not Uruk-hai.

Staring back at him were blood red eyes.

An icy hand grasped his heart as tremors rocked through his body.  He could feel his hands begin to shake and he fought hard to keep a grip on his sword.  Éowyn, he had to think of Éowyn and their unborn child.  He could not allow himself to fall victim to that cold darkness, lest he loose his family.

"Éowyn," He gasped out as the ice settled into his lungs. "Éowyn run!  Save our child!"

But Éowyn did not run.  Instead she stayed rooted to the spot, eyes wide with terror as she stared at the Men breaking through.

"Éowyn!" Faramir yelled again.

"Red eyes," She whispered, as if in a trance. "Blood red eyes.  They burn my soul and freeze my body…"

"By the Valar, Éowyn!" Faramir was now screaming. "You must run!"

"So cold…Why will my body not move?"

Faramir realized that he had no choice.  Éowyn was in a state of shock, held in place by the power of those demon eyes.  He had to break their hold on her, and that meant breaking their icy hold on him as well.  He summoned up every ounce of strength in his body and focused his mind on one task; protecting his only remaining family.  With a harsh cry of anger and determination, he pushed down the cold in his body and charged forward.  His sword swung, only to be met by the blade of one of his enemies.  But that was enough.

Éowyn suddenly blinked as she regained control of her body and immediately threw open the door of the nearest stall.  It was instinct alone that allowed her to throw her body upon the horse's back and dig her heels in.  The stallion immediately charged forward toward the gaping hole in the stable wall.  Meanwhile, Faramir managed to throw himself at the dark Men, pushing them out of Éowyn's path.  The horse leapt through the hole and charged past the attacking band of Uruk-hai.  Éowyn did not care which direction she was heading, as long as it was away from danger.  The horse, sensing her urgency, began to run harder as he carried her away from the battle and into the dark night.

Hours dragged by until the sun was halfway into the sky.  Éowyn had not stopped her ride since she had left, and was now beginning to realize the foolishness of her actions.  She was riding without a saddle or reigns, letting her horse determine their path.  She had been leaning forward the entire time, pressing her belly against the stallion's shoulders and she was starting to feel pain from it.  Her back and legs were in agony from riding bareback and her absence from riding.  As the stallion pressed on, she could feel herself growing dizzy from fatigue and knew that she had to stop soon before she passed out.  She gently tugged on the horse's mane and groaned for him to slow down.  As the horse checked his pace, Éowyn's ears suddenly picked up the sound of more horses coming toward her.  Fear gripped her.  Were more enemies on their way?  

Éowyn was about to guide the horse away from its path when the newcomers entered her line of sight.  A very familiar banner of green and white fluttered in the breeze as they neared her position.  A smile crossed the White Lady's face as she sobbed in relief.  The Valar had finally been kind to her this day.  Awkwardly, she rolled herself off of the horse's back, causing her to double over in pain as a throbbing ache slammed into her entire body.  The approaching riders obviously saw her pain and sped their pace to reach her quickly.

"Éowyn!" The cry seemed so distant.

Éowyn slumped forward, but one of the riders quickly dismounted and caught her before she fell.

"Éowyn!  What has happened?"

Éowyn closed her eyes as she leaned into the familiar embrace. "…Éomer…" She whispered. "Battle…not human…Faramir…" 

Nothing more was said as darkness descended upon her and she lapsed into unconsciousness in her brother's arms.            

**Author's Notes: **Thanks a lot to everyone who has sent me reviews for the last chapter.  Thanks even more to Arlessiar for giving me the information on Faramir and Éowyn's first child.  I looked everywhere in the appendices and couldn't find their first child's name.  I now have a big decision to make.  Should I follow canon or go with my reviewers?  I guess we'll all know the answer by the end (which won't be for a while).  I wish that I could update faster, but real life is…well…real life.  One of my classes this semester requires for me to write at least 150 pages for an original novel, so you can guess how most of my time is being spent.  Fear not, I will never give up on this story.  Thanks again to all of my readers who have been so patient with my slow updates.  I can guarantee that you will not be disappointed with the rest of the story.  


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